Mass Effect: Instability
by Almost a Shadow
Summary: Were you ever so disappointed in something that the laws of space and time literally fractured? Four years after dealing with Mass Effect 3's horrible ending, I found myself on a plane to Vancouver. All I wanted was to see a concert and enjoy the sights. What I got was a life I never expected would be mine. (SI)(AU)
1. Chapter 1

Vancouver, 2016. As I stepped out of the airport terminal and onto the streets of the city, I laughed in joyful anticipation. The sky was so beautiful; I'm not sure about the rest of you, but nothing beats a nice gray sky and a cool breeze to encourage me to seize the day. Summer in Missouri was starting to become so depressing.

I turned around and found my cousin Troy whooping, yelling "WE MADE IT VANCOUVER!" while his luggage flailed violently behind him. After five months of anticipation and planning, it was all finally paying off.

Troy rushed me, letting his suitcase crash to the pavement, and we began jumping in a frenzied joy, at first firmly holding each other by the shoulders then increasing ourselves to adrenaline-fueled all-in-good-fun punches. I don't even remember what we were saying—probably didn't even know at the time—only that we were completely out of our minds having travelled to another country to see our favorite musicians.

"Dude!" Troy said after we stopped jumping, throwing another light punch at my shoulder. "We're about to see Being As An Ocean live in Vancouver!"

"Being As a mother-friggin Ocean!" I returned, matching his intensity. We were both wearing our BAAO T-shirts we'd gotten at the first concert we'd seen them, back in Saint Louis, and had told anyone who commented on our apparel that we were going to Vancouver to see the best fucking band on the planet. This was the night of our lives.

"All right, aright aright aright," I said, calming myself and planning our next steps. "We gotta get to the hotel, get our shit put away, and hit a bar before we head to the show." I started looking up and down the street. "How the fuck do you hail a cab in Vancouver?"

"Probably the same way you hail a cab in America, dumbass," Troy replied, sticking his thumb up in the air, staring up and down the street like I was, looking for a cab. A number of cars lined the streets, but no taxis as far as I could see. But we were in Canada; taxis could be pink Lincoln Navigators for all I knew.

No one stopped on the curb for us.

There was a car sitting at an intersection down the street that gave me a moment to pause. It sat lower to the ground than most cars, unless you drive a pimp-mobile, and the emissions coming off it were astounding considering I couldn't see a tailpipe. It was cold outside, but not enough to freeze vehicle emissions like that. Besides, the gas wasn't smoky, just that translucent boil that makes you think you're tripping balls when you look at something bright.

"Hey dude, does that car seem weird to you?" I asked.

"We're in Canada bro, they all look weird."

"Canadians drive the same cars as the rest of the world, moron," I replied. Taking a closer look, I didn't see any wheels and the shape of the car seemed out of place. The lines were all wrong, like they were from a different decade than any car model I'd ever seen. And being a mechanic I've seen just about every model there is. Maybe it was one of those really high-tech Euro cars, like the newest half-mil-priced Lambo.

Then something happened. Very nondescript, I know, so let me try to do it justice. You know that feeling you have just before you realize you're dreaming, when everything suddenly seems wrong? That's realization hitting you that it's all fucked up and that's what helps you realize you're dreaming. Your brain kicks into gear and tells you this can't possibly be reality, because your memories enter your subconscious and you understand that none of this makes any sense.

That's about the feeling I had when I turned around and saw that the airport we had just exited was obviously not the one we'd arrived in. It stood massive, at least fifty stories high, and gave off more of an ivory tower vibe. The kind of place corporate executives and rich millionaires pay substantial money to inhabit. Definitely not an airport terminal linked to a runway with six planes ready to load up and fly out to their destinations.

I turned to Troy only to see that he was staring at me. "Dude, are you real?"

"What?" I asked, still trying to make sense of everything.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

 _I'm dreaming_. It all clicked into place.

"I think I'm the one having the dream."

"No offense man, but if anyone's dreaming it's me. This is friggin crazy."

I frowned. Was my subconscious projection of my cousin really trying to make me question the reality of my fantasy, or was he there with me? Like some Inception shit or something?

"So you see it too?" I asked.

"If by 'it' you mean the fucking hovercars, then yeah, I see it."

Hovercars? I looked to my right down the crowded street we'd scoped out earlier to find that the vehicles were indeed not touching the ground, but rather floating inches above it. The emissions vented from underneath the vehicle, which explained what I'd seen earlier.

"What the hell is happening?" I asked no one in particular.

"This is a trippy-ass dream," Troy muttered, now looking at the sky.

"It can't be," I said. "I'm definitely aware of what's happening, so I know I'm real. And you actually seem to be you, so I think you're real."

"Of course I'm real dude. Is this some Inception shit? Are you invading my dreams right now?"

"How the fuck should I know dude? What the fuck is going on?!"

Then I heard it. I suppose we both did—Troy seemed as real to me as I did, which punched a pretty big hole in the dream theory. But soon enough the thought fled from my mind as a thunderous shriek pierced the sky, so painfully loud we both covered our ears and sank to our knees. After several seconds we gathered the resolve to un-shield ourselves and look to the sky.

The sight chilled my spine. With a flash of red light, a long, black metallic finger stretched down from the gray clouds and plummeted to the earth, knocking us on our asses despite the fact that we were already kneeling. Only when I gathered myself did I realize that it wasn't just a finger, but an entire metal hand that had descended from the sky and crashed on our level.

A Reaper!

I couldn't believe it. Had the flight attendant mixed some mushrooms into my meal? Put a bit of acid in my whiskey? Just my luck, the first time I get to visit another country and I'm imagining the opening act of Mass Effect 3, one of the most devastating moments in my video game history.

"Is that a fucking Reaper?!" Troy screamed, both of us staring up at the colossus completely dumbfounded. It stood well over any of the buildings in the area, which was a feat considering that only minutes earlier those same buildings were giving me an inferiority complex.

"What the fuck did that lady put in our food?" I asked, knowing any answer was self-evident. We weren't hallucinating, we weren't drugged, we weren't asleep; no two people share identical experiences when impaired in any such way. Besides, in dreams (which was the most logical explanation) everything is chopped up and disorderly. While the moment was certainly chaotic and terrifying, I absorbed every detail of it with perfect clarity. Like thinking you're drunk only to remember you barely had two beers. Suddenly everything you're doing becomes real and you realized you fucked up by asking that chick at the bar for her number.

I looked at Troy, and we both knew in that moment. We'd always joked that we were more like brothers than cousins—our minds worked so similarly—and we both knew what the priority was at that point. If this was real, if there was even a chance, we had to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

"Come on!" I yelled, pushing myself to my feet.

"Where?" Troy asked.

"I don't know dude, it's a fucking Reaper invasion! What do you do in a situation like this?! Just run!"

We took off, no direction, no rhyme or reason, just running because the Reaper was right the hell on top of us. I could hear weapons firing in the distance, see shuttles flying out to greet the menace only to be gunned down, but it didn't become real until the massive death machine began priming its main cannon.

The repercussion knocked us off our feet once more and literally deafened me. I fell to the concrete with a thud and rolled. The good thing about being six feet tall and 170 pounds is that you've got a bit of time to hit the ground once you're airborne, and once you go down you can maneuver your body more easily to avoid as much pain as possible. Skills I had perfected being as reckless as I was.

I groaned, loudly I thought but unable to hear any of it, and pushed myself to my feet. Troy heaved himself up in similar fashion and we both looked up at the Reaper's target, the building adjacent to the airport. Or, what had been the airport ten minutes prior.

It seemed familiar, and when I saw the Alliance logo at the top of the building I knew immediately. It was the Alliance HQ in Vancouver. The same building Shepard starts out at in the beginning of game three. In fact I could almost imagine Anderson digging Shep out of the rubble at this very moment and them facing the chaos in front of us.

Oddly enough, there was very little confusion in my mind. I suppose I'd played the games so many times that I was immediately able to make the connections once I saw them despite my brain telling me this was all delusional and impossible. I'd come to accept the fact early in my life that raving insanity just came with the job. Roll with it.

"Are we…" Troy started, trying to catch his breath and put words to our ludicrous situation. "Are we living the plotline of Mass Effect 3?"

I nodded. I'd like to say crazier things had happened, but no. They really hadn't. We were in the Mass Effect universe. You have to understand, at that point in my life I hadn't read a single fan fiction before. I assumed there were others like me who had realized how cool it would be to insert themselves into a game reality, but I never realized there was an entire culture around it. I thought I was one of the only people nerdy enough and who possessed the writing desire to even attempt such a thing. I never imagined that there were people who wrote about being dropped into the middle of Mass Effect; I certainly never imagined that something like that would actually happen to me.

But somehow, as it always does, part of me had found the truth and accepted it before I had. My one instinct was to survive.

To do that, I knew we had to find Shepard.

"We've gotta get up there," I told Troy.

He looked at me as though I had grown horns. And wings. And had half a horse's body. "Are you insane?"

"Just entertain the fact that this is real. How the hell are we supposed to survive? Earth gets fucking raped, dude! Shepard's our only shot!"

"And if it's not real?"

"Then we're having some kind of delusion and a cop will smack us out of it or something. Think about your options dude. Possibly get brutally murdered by Reapers and turned into some abomination of nature, or find out you're delusional and sleep it off at the hotel. Which one sounds worse?"

He had to admit that the possibility of getting massacred by a Reaper was way worse than being humiliated over a hallucination. I could see him mulling it over in his mind.

The very fact that we were even having this conversation was insane.

"Fine," he said, mentally convincing himself. "Fine, let's fucking do it."

I needed no further encouragement, jumping into a sprint as soon as we'd made up our minds. Beams of angry light fell all around us and explosions muted all other sound in the world, but on we ran, ever forward toward our salvation. Or delusion, I really wasn't sure at that point.

We reached the door in seconds—no I didn't run track in school but I am extremely agile on my feet—and shoved inward. No effect. I pulled outward and, to my great dismay, nothing happened.

"Access denied," a female robotic voice spoke. Reminded me of Majel Barrett's performance as the Starfleet Computer. "You do not have authorization to enter this facility. Please contact your Systems Alliance Civilian Liaison to request admittance to—"

"Dammit woman, we don't have time for this!" Troy screamed at the door.

"The Reapers are attacking!" I added. "We need to get inside to secure Commander Shepard and Councilor Anderson."

"I cannot comply. According to the Alliance codes of conduct, section twelve paragraph thirty-two sub-section A14—"

"Forget the regs!" I yelled. "We're about to face planetary destruction if you don't open this door! Isn't there something in your army handbook about overriding protocols in desperate situations?"

A detonation of some kind had us stumble to our knees yet again, but we were on our feet momentarily awaiting the computer's reply.

"Section thirty-four paragraph nine details procedures for overwhelming combat scenarios in which civilians may be granted temporary military status."

"Good, then under section thirty-four paragraph nine sub-section whatever I order you to open this door so we can do some fucking good here!"

The voice went away. Fuck it all, there we were stranded on earth during a goddamn Reaper invasion and the jack-off computer was going to deny us access to the building. I bet Shepard didn't have to deal with this shit. What am I saying? Of course she didn't—she's Shepard!

A second later my anger turned to astonishment. The glass door slid open quite unexpectedly, and after only a moment of exchanging open-mouthed looks at each other, Troy and I rushed inside.

The place was nice. Nicer than I'd have thought for military. Marble flooring, some sort of imported wood columns supporting the upper walkway, futuristic glass (maybe?) walls, all offset by a massive sculpture of the Alliance logo atop a bronze globe easily twice my height. Classy as fuck.

"Dude," Troy said, hitting me on the shoulder while looking off in the distance. "Elevator."

I followed his gaze and jogged over to the door. It greeted us automatically, ushering us inside, and closed the doors just as quickly.

"Uh, computer? Are you there?" I asked.

I was immediately answered by the same voice. Robots don't lack for response time, at least. "I am the Alliance Headquarters' VI assistant. You may call me Hannah."

"Uh, great, Hannah." Weird putting a name to someone who didn't have a physical presence. "Can you locate Commander Shepard and Councilor Anderson for me?"

"Commander Shepard and Councilor Anderson are no longer inside this facility. They have exited through the main courtroom's window on the seventy-seventh floor."

I glanced to my left at Troy. Seventy-seven? Damn this was a tall building, considering there had to be at least another forty floors above that. Not to mention rife with superstitions; I'd read once about a hotel that barricaded all the rooms and floors that had 66 and 77, especially the ones labelled 666 and 777, so what the fuck was stopping these guys?

"Take us to the seventy-seventh floor then," Troy said for me, knowing numeric superstition was not something I enjoyed involving myself with.

Almost instantaneously the elevator lurched upward, but oddly enough it didn't feel the same as the els I was used to. There was no pressure trying to cave my legs in, no odd motion-sickness, and best of all, no uncomfortable shove once we reached the top. Apparently elevators in this time period had received a considerable upgrade from the ones in Mass Effect 1's day.

When we stepped out I vaguely recognized the semi-reception area we were in from the game. This was where Shep and Anderson had talked briefly before the committee meeting, and where Ash/Kaidan had made their appearance.

Bodies were everywhere. I don't know if you've ever seen a dead body before; I guess most people have, wakes, funerals, etc.—but when you're faced with the total annihilation of two dozen people…it gets to you. It's not like they were just shot or stabbed or died of a heart attack in a way that killed them quickly. Their bodies were scorched. Before it ended they had certainly endured one of the most horrific deaths imaginable.

We followed the trail of destruction, not even managing to cast glances at each other, until we reached the committee chambers. As one would expect, even more bodies thrown against the wall along with all the other debris. The impact of the Reaper's shot had evidently been strong enough to shove aside anything it hadn't directly disintegrated, making the entire room empty aside from the piles of wreckage and corpses lining the walls.

Outside, through the shattered window, we could see the war raging. More Reapers had joined the first, spread throughout the city, and the Alliance was going at it hard. Too hard. They had yet to realize that this was a war of attrition. They couldn't just throw everything they had at a handful of Reapers when there were hundreds more in space; they needed to hold back, focus on population extraction, and regroup to a central operations point to coordinate a plan of attack.

No, if you're wondering, I'm not a military strategist nor have I ever served in any military capacity. I guess way too many documentaries and video games showcasing overwhelming odds actually kicks in when you're in that situation.

Still, we had to focus on the matter at hand. Shepard, Anderson, Normandy. Though survival and getting the hell back to my own life was definitely the top priority on my list, I found myself thinking about all the things we could do to help with the war. Assuming Shepard knew as little as she did in the games (or hell, for all I knew it could be a he. I'd played as both) (s)he could definitely use the support.

It was a ludicrous idea, but one that I could think about later. As I said, mind in the moment.

I nearly jumped out the window to the ledge below, but Troy's hand on my shoulder stopped me.

"What the hell are we doing?" he asked. As he said it, he glanced from Reaper to Reaper, brows slightly raised. I'd seen the look before, on him and on myself. We really didn't know what the hell we were doing; why we were chasing Shepard, why we were even here in the first place, why we believed any of this was real. We were living the plot of Mass Effect 3 for fuck's sake! That shit doesn't just happen!

Still, I'd gone through this mental process half a dozen times already. There was no answer. We were just operating on instinct, flying autopilot, because that's what seemed like the best course of action at the moment. Of course, I'd had my share of run-ins while flying blind, but this was different. This was something we truly had no choice in. The only action, however illogical it may have been, was to simply go with it and do what the smarter part of my brain told me to.

I slapped Troy on the shoulder. "I have no fucking clue dude. But right now, that's all we've got."

Then I jumped. Surprisingly enough the fall wasn't as far as it had seemed. Surely the air was lighter with a Reaper just above us and fighters rushing through the sky as well. I don't know the exact details of mass effect theory, but I read enough of the codices in the game and listened to enough dialogue to get the gist of it. Essentially, whenever something of sufficient mass powered by a mass effect engine lands in an atmosphere similar to earth's, it either decreases the mass of the objects around it or decreases the mass of gravity itself, thus making us able to do cool shit like super-jumps. Which of those is correct, I haven't the faintest idea. Also the fighters constantly swooping in probably had some effect on gravity as well, so there was that.

So you can imagine it was with ease that we began running down the same path Shepard and Anderson ran down in the game. Each step seemed to carry us twice as far, and though we were moving at an increased speed, it wasn't hard to keep my feet in front of me. You ever run so fast that your feet can't keep up with the rest of your body and you face-plant into the ground? Luckily I've only done that in grass; God help the poor bastards who've done it on concrete.

And luckily, that wasn't the case here, although it was considerably harder to slow down. Also luckily, I wasn't stupid enough to look down. Didn't even think about it at the time. I don't have any particular fear of heights, but knowing my clumsy self I could have easily fallen off that walkway, and even more so if I had realized exactly how far away the ground was. Although, now that I think about it, as light as gravity was it might not have hurt too much falling from that distance. Note the word might. I really have no clue how dense gravity really was, so more than likely it would have been similarly lethal. Falling speed compounds the higher you are, after all.

So, with that lovely thought, I leapt to a ladder and heaved myself to the roof of what may have been a building connected to Alliance HQ. I really wasn't paying attention to anything aside from the pile of dead Husks I recognized to be the handiwork of Shepard and Anderson.

"They came through here," I said, taking off in that direction.

"So we really are living the game," Troy replied, a mix between question and statement.

"Well yeah, what'd you expect?"

I could almost hear him frown. He was just as baffled as I was at our predicament. "I dunno. Alternate reality, horribly vivid shared nightmare, hell, I would've bet psychological torture if not for the fact that we've been shot at a dozen times."

I jumped down to the landing where the melee tutorial happens in the game. "I'm still holding on to the hope that this is some kind of simulation that's gotten out of control. Like a glitch with one of those new VR gaming things."

"But then wouldn't we remember that?" A valid point. "Far as I know, we stepped off a plane and into the Mass Effect universe."

"Yeah kinda shoots that theory to pieces."

We blew through the now-vacant building where Shepard performs the first heavy melee, sees the child for the first time, and has that brief chat with Anderson while crawling through debris. Seeing as all the Husks were dead and apparently another blast of Reaper fire had hit the structure, clearing the rubble from our path, it was considerably easier to make our way through.

Then we passed outside again. The battle had increased in intensity, gunships of all sizes launching hit-and-run strikes against the Reapers, only to be blown out of the sky after an unsuccessful run. The spherical Oculi were also flying about, keeping Alliance pilots busy and occasionally stopping to shoot a red beam at the ground or a building, presumably where Marines or even civilians were holed up.

I couldn't believe it. There I was, twenty-one years old, in the middle of a full-scale planetary war. Despite having picked up a gun or two in my life, the sight in front of me took the life out of my breath.

And then it just about took the breath right out of me. There was a split-second of almost earth-shattering silence, and then a roaring detonation that sent me flying a good ten feet to my left. The ground caved in under me as I went tumbling down, completely unaware of whether I was free-falling or sliding down the destroyed walkway. I thought I could feel my body slamming against something every now and again but was too disoriented to make sense of it.

I've been told a have a moderately high pain threshold. Broke my arm once when I was a kid and still kept running around playing capture the flag until my gym teacher called me out on it. Been stabbed, sliced, and cut up so many times being a mechanic and never seemed to notice a thing until whatever I was working on became covered in blood. I still have scars all over my hands and numerous marks on my body, each telling a different story about how I was too thick-headed to notice I'd done something to injure myself.

But hitting the ground after that fall, that was one experience I actually knew I was fucked. I hit the metal below with a sickening crack and all my senses faded. Couldn't hear the war being fought in the background. Couldn't smell flames or the stench of eezo polluting the atmosphere from the recently-destroyed frigate. Couldn't taste the blood in my mouth, though I learned only minutes later it was there. Even my eyes, which struggled intensely to remain open, slipped into a state of half-functionality with gray rimming my periphery.

Damn, I was a dead man. And with not even a cigarette in my mouth to alleviate a bit of the pain.

Through what little I could perceive with my dying eyes, I saw Troy laying just next to me. Didn't look quite as bad, at least I thought. He was managing to struggle weakly to his feet. I on the other hand just sat there immobilized, unable to even consider attempting to get up let alone actually try it.

My vision faded. The gray took over the small sliver I could still see through and was immediately replaced by black.

Only for a second. At least, that's what it seemed like to me.

When I came to again I was sitting upright, senses fully restored. The battle raged as ferociously as ever, refusing to relent for even a moment to allow me to regain my grasp on the situation.

A medic—I assumed she was a medic, anyway—knelt over me with an omni-tool in one hand and an applicator of some sort in the other. The contraption spewed an almost foamy-looking substance onto my abdomen, which I only then realized was soaked in blood. Damn, and I was wearing my favorite BAAO T-shirt, too.

"Dude, you're alive!" I faintly heard Troy scream. I leaned to the left and saw him crouched cautiously behind the medic. About half a dozen Alliance soldiers were on either side of me, using the same hunk of metal I leaned on for cover. Shooting. Ducking. We were in the middle of a battle. Not just us in a massive, frenzied area under Reaper occupation, but an actual battle with enemies just on the other side of the metal.

"Just hold still," the medic said with a stern voice. "This might hurt a bit."

That was an understatement. As much as the fall had racked my brain with unpleasantness, the medic resetting my broken ribs hurt just as equally. I hadn't even realized I was in pain until she began fixing me. Shock, more than likely. There was plenty of that to go around.

And more on the way apparently. One of the Marines on my right fell back, clutching at a hole in his navy blue armor, and toppled in a heap to the ground. The medic quickly rushed to the fallen soldier, satisfied that I was no longer dying, but evidently didn't hold much hope for him. She turned to the rest of the unit.

"This position's shit!" she yelled, picking up the fallen soldier's rifle and spraying a few bullets.

Another one, a tall colossus of a soldier, piped up, firing as he yelled. "Our orders are to get to evac shuttles and protect civilians, no matter what! Everyone get ready to roll out!"

I wondered if that included me. I was in no position to move. The bleeding had all but halted and my abdomen felt considerably less constricted, but the medi-gel (at least I'm assuming that's what it was) still needed more time to set in.

On the other hand, fuck it. If this was a dream or some kind of weird experiment-gone-wrong, I would just wake up when I died. If not, at least I'd go down fighting like a boss in the Mass Effect universe.

So yeah, fuck it was sounding like the better option at this point.

I stood to my feet, nearly vomiting as I did so, but managed to keep it down and ran for the fallen soldier's pistol. I don't know what kind of adrenaline-fueled craziness had taken me over, but I had the gun in my hands and was blind-firing before I even saw our targets.

Cannibals. Lots of them. Maybe a dozen, maybe two—it was a bit hard to count, lightheaded as I was. All I knew was that they stood in the way of me getting to Shepard and finding a somewhat plausible way to survive. And that the Predator pistol felt remarkably comfortable in my hands. I've shot a lot of guns in my day—cops in the family definitely has its privileges—but there was almost no recoil and the hair trigger made it surprisingly easy to squeeze off three or four shots before the enemy retreated. Usually three or four was enough given that they hit just the right spot.

I vaguely heard soldiers yelling at me to "get the fuck down!" but ignored all of it. I took cover when necessary, fired when the timing was right, and took down enough Cannibals that after a few minutes they realized I might just be doing them some good. That or there was just no point trying to stop me. Even Troy's much longer and profane tirades had died out to a mere "what the fuck" every now and then.

The Cannibals were ridiculous. Easy to kill, but still, it took me a minute to figure out where the weak points were. Being Reaper drones a simple headshot didn't do the trick, although a high-velocity slug from a powerful enough rifle like the Mantis or Widow probably would have worked. Instead I found where their armor was weakest: just below the right arm. The left was essentially a human corpse with a cannon at the feet, so shooting there was both disgusting and pointless. A bit of trial and error made that abundantly clear. Then again, in my state there was no way to even know if I was hitting anything aside from the debris in the background. With five other people shooting their guns in that direction it was impossible to know who was really doing the killing.

Taking cover was also something I wasn't used to. Of course I'd shot guns before, played a bit of lazer tag and paintball in my day, but that's different. Nothing lethal shooting back at you, so you don't take it quite as seriously. In games you know as soon as the blinking light goes away or the next round starts you're good to go again. In real life you have to listen to the shots, time it just right, and fire in coordination with you allies so as not to get hit. The Marines could take a blow or two, but I had no shields and no armor. All it would've taken was one bullet and I'd be down, this time much more permanently.

Oddly enough though, it all came naturally. I suppose it was just adrenaline, the fight or flight instinct. Often enough we're capable of things we don't even realize until necessity kicks in and forces us to stretch our limits. Or, as I said, I could've been doing a completely horrendous job and was merely mistaking the soldier's achievements for my own. Amazing how a severe wound can interfere with your perceptions like that.

A few minutes later we seemed to be clear, a small pile of Cannibal corpses dead on the ground across from us. Though my chest and below was aching in pain, it almost numbed when compared to the sense of achievement I took at our small victory.

Which was cut severely short by one of the Marines. Apparently there was a stereotype that I'd yet to understand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" This coming from the one who'd spoken earlier about their orders. They were all wearing full body armor and helmets so I couldn't tell any difference visually, aside from the medic who was a bit smaller than her male counterparts, but I could hear enough of a distinction in their voices to know this guy had to be the leader of their unit.

"Sorry sir," I replied, "but you looked like you needed the help and we have to get the hell out of here."

"Do you know the punishment for civilian interference in a military operation?" the gigantor asked, another question along the "you're going to get us all killed" track.

"Not really." Wouldn't do any good to lie. "But in this case I don't think it matters. We're in the middle of a galactic war here, we need to get to Shepard and the Normandy before they take off—"

"That isn't even close to being an option. All civilians and Alliance personnel are being directed to evacuation shuttles to regroup with Alliance Command."

"Alliance Command just got incinerated when the Reaper landed," I said. "And trust me, any evac shuttles you get in the air won't stay there long. The Reapers control the skies, surely you must realize that."

I got a few bewildered stares from some of the other Marines. Yeah, I may not know much about military life, but I've played enough video games and seen enough shit go down that I know a lost cause when I see it. Plus, in this case I really had seen it. Duh.

"How do you know all that?" the medic asked me. Wouldn't have expected her to be the one to add to the conversation.

"I…was on the streets below when the first wave landed." At that point I motioned to Troy. "We went to the committee chambers to see if we could find Shepard or Anderson, but it was too late. The Admirals are dead. The Commander and Councilor took off in this direction trying to reach Normandy."

"Makes sense," one of the others butted in. "With Normandy's stealth systems she's the only bird who could get in and out without attracting any attention."

"But why do you need to find Commander Shepard?" the medic asked.

"Daniels!" the squad leader yelled. "All of you, this is ludicrous. We have our orders; let's get our asses in gear and follow them. You two," he said, taking special care to give Troy and I death glares. "Follow us. And no more interference."

"Can't do that," Troy said, walking over to stand beside me. "We're going to find Shepard with or without you. If any of you want to survive, I'd suggest you do the same thing."

"Civilian! Come with us now, or—"

"Or you'll shoot us? The Reapers are going to do that anyway if we stay with you. Your orders are outdated. Shepard and Normandy are the priority right now."

Satisfied, he turned and began jogging towards where he thought Shepard and Anderson were headed.

"I know how you guys feel about abandoning your mission," I said, "but if there's a time to screw your orders, it's now." And then I jogged off to join my cousin.

No one followed us. I figured the unit would come after us if only out of a sense of duty to protect us, but the only footsteps I heard were the ones we were creating. I wished we'd put up more of a fight. Those guys were all dead if they stayed in Vancouver.

The image flashed through my mind of the scene in-game where the civilian shuttle gets decimated by the Reaper. That little boy scrambling in only to get incinerated by laser fire. Knowing that hundreds of thousands of people were going to die here—possibly millions worldwide. I knew exactly what was about to happen and I was absolutely powerless to stop it.

In that moment I think I fully understood what Shepard had been going through for the last three years. I mean you see the toll it takes on him/her in the game, but I never related so fully to the crushing weight on Shep's shoulders until then.

Still we kept running. Wasn't even sure where we were going, only that some of the wreckage looked a bit familiar to what you see in the game. We were on the water now, leaping across gaps between chunks of debris that were somehow buoyant enough to float on the surface. Even as the battle raged overhead and the Reapers moved throughout the city, my mind was stuck on that one thought.

 _They're all going to die._

"I think we're here," Troy said, snapping me out of my daydream.

I surveyed our surroundings, noting that we were in fact very close to the position Shepard and Anderson had to hold until Normandy could reach them. I could almost hear the gunshots in the distance among the chaos of war all around us.

We nearly redoubled our efforts to reach them when I heard footsteps behind us. I instinctively swiveled to get a better view, gun at the ready expecting another assault from Cannibals.

Much to my surprise, it wasn't anyone with such ill-intent. Two Alliance Marines, one of them I recognized as the medic who'd patched me up.

If I hadn't been clutching a severely wounded abdomen and confounded by the mass hysteria in the air, I would have smiled. "Decided to come along for the ride then?"

"Not quite," the woman said. "Couldn't let a patient run off and get himself killed, even if he is being an idiot."

I did smile at that. "Well you're in luck doc, because we're almost there."

I turned and nodded to Troy, who took that as a signal to press on. Apparently while I'd been lost in my mental musings about the condition of this reality he'd found a rifle, so he led the charge alongside the soldier who'd accompanied the medic.

The LZ was littered with Cannibal corpses and two dozen of the living things. Well, I guess as alive as one can be under Reaper control. Luckily they were facing south, presumably giving Shepard and Anderson all their attention and gunfire, whereas we were coming in from the west. As one the four of us opened fire, taking down three of them in as many seconds. Taken off-guard by this outmaneuvering on our part, the drones scrambled for suitable cover only to be gunned down from flanking fire. With four of us on their west flank, two on the south, and nothing but water north and east, the Cannibals didn't stand a chance. No cover position offered them reprieve from our assault, and they were down in ten seconds flat.

"Come on," I yelled to the group. I would've done something cool and vaulted my cover, but the medi-gel still hadn't fully settled and I was running on fumes as it was. Instead I had to opt for a more practical solution and jog around toward the platform overlooking the waterfront.

I can't even begin to describe how surreal it was seeing Shepard for the first time. She was a woman, by the way, something I'd had much speculation about. Seeing as the male Shep's physical appearance was based on his actor, Mark Meer, that would have been way too freaky.

She stood there, rifle in one arm and pistol on the other, looking as though she could take on the entire galaxy. In the games people always talk about how she has some kind of inspirational bad-ass vibe that simply suffocates the room, but I didn't understand it until right then. This was the hero of the friggin galaxy, the woman who'd overcome insurmountable odds—including being killed in space and disintegrating in-atmosphere—and the one who was going to stop the Reapers. I'd never been so awed just by seeing someone.

Anderson was Anderson. Not that seeing him wasn't just as odd, but the effect paled in comparison to Shepard's. That was when it all became real.

I looked to the left at Troy, who was giving me the same questioning glance.

 _What the hell do we say when we go down there?_

The Marines had already started working their way down, so we followed suit. It would be much less awkward if they introduced us as just more civilians looking for extraction.

"…just heading to our primary insertion point when our bird was shot down," the Marine was saying. The one whose name, rank, or identity I knew absolutely nothing about. At least I knew the medic was a medic. This guy gave me literally nothing to tell him apart from every other soldier out there.

"And the civilians?" Anderson asked, nodding towards us.

The soldier sighed. "Found them after the frigate detonated. Daniels patched them up and they got a bit…overzealous in their efforts to assist us. This one," and he made a point of gesturing to me, "said they had to reach you at all costs."

 _Well, here we go._

"What's your name, son?" Anderson asked me.

 _Freaking David Anderson just asked me a question. This is so fucking fucked._

"Donovan," I answered. "Donovan Womble. This is my cousin, Troy."

Troy nodded.

"What was so important that you had to reach us?" Shepard asked.

I couldn't think straight. I was having a conversation with Commander Shepard and Councilor Anderson. I was in the Mass Effect universe, Reapers were attacking earth, I'd just shot and (possibly) killed several Cannibals, and I was having a conversation with Shepard.

If I was on a bad trip, whoever made the drug was a fucking genius. Insane, but a genius.

"Listen, Commander—" I began, but was cut short when a continuous gust of wind slapped my back and the sky began ringing with the sound of a huge engine whirring nearby. I guess at that point I was getting used to the sounds of mass effect drives.

I turned to find the Normandy dropping down to the LZ. Not surprising, I had expected it any moment now, but still it took my breath away. I know not everyone is into ship designs—it's a bit like cars. Either you've got a thing for it or you don't—but the Normandy was truly a sight to behold in real life. The games didn't do her justice. Sleek, aerodynamic, and shiny as all hell, with the classic NORMANDY SR-2 stamped on the hull. Couldn't have been more beautiful if Cerberus had shelled out another million credits on her.

I guess someone was on the comms, because everyone but Troy and I put a hand to one ear and stopped to listen. I'd always hated being left out of the conversation. Damn third wheel bullshit.

Almost as if their movements were synchronized everyone's hands dropped.

"Come on," Shepard said, gesturing to the group at large. "Everyone onboard."

"Ma'am? What about the civilians?" the medic asked.

"We can't just leave them now that they're here. We've got the space."

I needed no more encouragement. With a bit of help from Troy I hopped up to the open cargo bay door and spun to make sure everyone else made it.

Surprisingly, the medic and soldier were still groundside.

"You're not coming with?" I asked, mostly to the medic.

"Our duties are to protect the civilians here," she replied. "Besides, this is where the fight's at."

"And how am I supposed to survive without a doctor treating me?" I really wasn't even concerned about that; the medi-gel seemed to be holding and I wasn't in that much pain. Just the thought of anyone staying on earth, especially when these particular two had saved my life, didn't sit right.

Anderson was still on the ground too, and he stepped forward just enough so we could all hear him. "You two get onboard," he told the Marines. "Normandy's got a skeleton crew as it is. They can use all the help they can get."

"But sir—" the soldier started.

"That's an order, Corporal." I could tell even without really seeing their faces that no more incentive was required. Anderson was a war hero and a damn good leader. If there was anyone in the Alliance that held the respect of every last Marine, it was him. So the soldier followed his order without further question, helping the medic up beside us.

"Come on Anderson," Shepard said. "You too."

 _Shit. Anderson._

"I'm not coming with you on this one, Shepard."

I could almost hear the "what the fuck are you saying" thoughts in everyone's minds. I realized how Shepard felt about it in the game, but going through it in real life made me realize even more. I felt like a real piece of shit knowing I was about to fly off to relative safety while he and the rest of the Marines stayed on earth facing the most brutal odds in the history of warfare.

"What are you saying, Anderson?"

 _Well, at least he doesn't die._

"You heard them. These soldiers need a leader, and I'm the best they've got."

 _Fuck. He does die at the end of the game._

"I'm staying with you."

 _But that's unavoidable, right? Can you change the future of a reality in which you aren't even supposed to exist?_

"Talk to the Council. We need every species and all their fleets if we want to stand a chance against the Reapers."

 _Yeah, and it still doesn't make a difference. In the end it all comes down to some magic weapon the devs threw in because EA rushed the damn game into production._

"They won't listen to me."

"Then make them listen. Now go, that's an order!"

 _Shit. Here it comes._

"I don't take orders from you, remember?"

Anderson threw Shepard's dogtags to her and the Commander caught them easily despite having her rifle in one hand.

"Consider yourself reinstated, Commander."

The look in Shepard's eyes…I couldn't even hold my gaze for a few seconds. As terrible as I felt, I knew she felt a million times worse. She was leaving earth after three years of trying to prevent this, but more than that, she was leaving a friend knowing that in all probability he was going to die.

She looked at the tags briefly, then to Anderson.

"You know what you have to do," he said.

"I'll be back for you," Shepard said, her tone low and serious. "And I'll bring every fleet I can. Good luck."

Anderson didn't say anything in response. I didn't blame him, knowing what he was about to go up against.

Normandy began lifting off. With one last glance Anderson ran in the opposite direction, heading towards whatever fight he could find. With each second we rose higher into the air, passing a Reaper as we did so, seeing the war unfold below us. It was…it was horrible. I'm not what you would call a guy who has a healthy grasp of his emotions, but seeing everything unfold like that got to me.

And then when I thought it couldn't get much worse, it did.

I followed Shepard's gaze to a landing zone down on the waterfront where two shuttles were being prepped for takeoff. Soldiers escorted civilians to their respective shuttles, and in all the panic, no one noticed the little boy lost and looking for some sort of reprieve.

I couldn't watch, but at the same time it felt like it'd be a disgrace to look away. I just stood there, eyes glued to the scene as a Reaper came from beyond the corner of a skyscraper and took notice of the shuttles about to launch.

Don't take off! I wanted to scream. I wanted to shoot. I wanted to jump out of the cargo bay, run up to the Reaper and beat my fists bloody against it. None of it would change anything. I couldn't stop it.

The shuttles launched. The Reaper primed its main cannon. Two beams, one per shuttle.

They were gone. All of them. Including that little boy.

 _You fucking monsters._

* * *

Author's Notes: So, welcome to my mind! I'm new to the community and I know SI's are considered repetetive and mundane, but this is the first fanfic I ever wrote and I wanted to share it with you guys in the hopes you'll enjoy it and have some useful insight into the writing. It's somewhat unique in the fact that I break canon regularly while retaining the basic principles of the story, and there's not just one SI character, but three. The third shall remain a mystery for some time yet ;) I started this story about three years ago, being so upset with the storlyine of ME3 in its entirety, and its undergone a few changes since then. The iteration I'm presenting you is the third draft and I'm still working on the latter half of the story, so you can expect regular (hopefully weekly) updates for at least a little while. Feel free to contact me with questions and of course, reviews (good and bad) are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

SSV Normandy, 2187. My mind was reeling with the implications of everything that had just happened. Everything that was happening. There I was, standing in the cargo bay of the fucking Normandy next to Commander Shepard, having just escaped the Reaper invasion and changing the course of history dramatically. As far as I remember, there was nothing that ever mentioned civilians getting picked up while Shepard escaped, let alone me and my cousin being two of those civilians.

The only two, far as I could see. Anderson had been right: Normandy was manned by a skeleton crew, and one with more than a few bones missing. Shepard, Kaidan, James, and the two Marines who'd joined us were the only people occupying the cargo bay aside from Troy and I. Granted, there could be substantially more on the upper decks, but unlikely. They'd just opened the hatch in the middle of a Reaper invasion; any and all combat-able personnel should have been at that door ready to gun down whatever atrocities had beset Shepard and Anderson. As it was, we were the only ones there.

I looked for Troy and found that he had the same confused face I imagined I was wearing. I couldn't even begin to attempt questioning our situation because I didn't fully understand what that situation was. Were we in some alternate reality where the events of the games were actually history? If so, was history as we knew it up until 2016 accurate? Once more, if so, did that mean we were in an alternate reality, or just the future, which would imply that the guys at EA and BioWare had somehow accurately predicted a full two hundred years of events they should have had no knowledge about? Confusing as hell and fucking wordy, I know, but at that point all my thoughts were jumbled into one continuous stream of _if_ questions.

Regardless, all of these questions didn't hold a candle to the big one. Was it possible for us to change things? That was the real kicker. If so (and bear with me, because these if-then questions are simply how I solve almost every problem in my life) how in the hell were we supposed to do that? As soon as someone started asking questions about us we'd be screwed. I'm as good a liar as anyone else—and better, if you ask any of my ex-girlfriends—but we were in the future! They could find out in a split-second that we had no business existing in that time period. Even our clothes were sure to give us away.

I'm often surprised at how I ever managed to survive twenty-one years of life, as much as I overthink things.

Shepard and her crew were already over at the comm station listening to Hackett's new orders, so I gave Troy a questioning glance. Didn't know if we should introduce ourselves or simply let the Commander do her thing. Hell, I was just hoping we hadn't shattered the fabric of space-time simply by boarding the Normandy. Shit like that happens in Star Trek all the time and the side-effects are usually pretty singular: everyone gets fucked. Any more interference on our part might do more harm than good.

"That was pretty courageous of you," someone said, and I shot to my left to find who the voice belonged to.

It was the medic, of all people. She and the other soldier had removed their helmets so I could finally get a proper look at them. An attractive young woman, early twenties maybe, long brunette hair and incredibly sparkly blue eyes. Odd. I thought soldiers were made to keep their hair short so it didn't interfere with their field of vision. That and—no disrespect to the brave women who join the armed forces—you usually don't see fucking models in the military.

The guy, on the other hand, was the absolute epitome of military life. Lean, squared jaw, pointed nose that had been broken more than once, pale, sunken eyes, and a disposition that could have made a turian blink. Classic military buzz cut.

"Uh, thanks," I replied, not knowing if I should continue the conversation or not. Temporal paradoxes and all that nonsense.

"That, or you had a krogan testicle implant," the soldier added, a slight smirk on his face. Strange. I thought he'd be pissed about our little deviation from his mission parameters. Then again, they'd both followed us willingly to Normandy, so they had to have seen some small amount of merit in the plan.

"To be honest I don't know what the hell I was doing," I said, taking a seat on a cargo crate because my abdomen was starting to ache. "I just saw the Reapers and thought I was gonna bleed out, so fuck it. Why not go down blazing?"

"That shit was fucked," Troy said, looking at the ground with raised brows. We'd seen some crazy shit go down in our day but this was easily the most horrifying.

"Corporal Sorola," the soldier said, offering his hand. I was too weak to offer a decent shake, but even had I been at full strength I think the Marine's hand still would have crushed mine. Troy gave him a weak one as well, understandable given our situation. "This is Daniels, unit field medic."

"I believe we've met," Daniels said, bringing her omni-tool to life. Weird as shit. In the games they never actually describe how omni-tools work—at least not that I know of—so it was a bit interesting to find that in the case of a soldier, it was linked to their armor VI and came to life upon a mere thought, courtesy of neural interfacing. Without the armor it functioned normally: a small wrist attachment that projected a holographic gauntlet allowing full user control.

"Yeah," I replied. "Wish it had been under better circumstances."

"I think that's a given considering what we all saw back there. How are you feeling?"

I grunted. Wanted to say something along the lines of _like a dying elephant that just swallowed an exploding giraffe_ but stuck with more practical conversation. "Like I seriously fucked something up."

She chuckled at that. "Could've been worse. You fell nearly twenty stories and managed to walk it off with only a few broken ribs and an abdominal laceration. A pretty severe one, but nothing that can't be treated."

Right. Sure as shit didn't feel like it. Hell, where I'm from it probably wouldn't have been treatable. Based on the amount of blood I'd seen when Daniels first patched me up, it was a wonder my internal organs hadn't spilled out of the chasm in my flesh.

A few raised voices alerted me to the fact that Shepard, Kaidan, and James were arguing over at the terminal. I remembered bits of it from the game.

And yeah, have I mentioned how strange it was to see Kaidan there? As far as I knew it was Ashley that seemed to be the preferential choice of surviving crew member, even as Fem-Shep, simply because Kaidan's character was so underdeveloped in the first game. Hell, even when I played as male Shepard and romanced Liara I still killed Kaidan. Wasn't until game three that I realized my mistake—the characters practically swapped likability between games one and three. In any case, it was strange, but I was definitely glad Ashley wasn't around. I lost all respect for her when the character artists gave her fucking breast implants.

"Doesn't look good over there," Daniels remarked. I turned to find that she had followed my gaze and was watching the debate unfold with just as much curiosity as me. "What do you think they're arguing about?"

As if on cue, and certainly not using his head, Troy answered. "Admiral Hackett and Councilor Anderson just ordered Shepard to leave earth and find a way to defeat the Reapers. We're heading to Mars. Vega over there doesn't like the idea of stranding everyone on earth."

I gave him an inconspicuous punch on the arm and a "shut the fuck up" look. It took a second, but then he realized his mistake and mentally told himself the same thing.

"He has really good hearing," I explained to the soldiers.

"Gene mods?" Sorola asked.

"Uh…" It doesn't say much about my Mass Effect fandom that I had no idea what he was talking about. I did the second he explained it, of course, but having just witnessed a lifetime's worth of real action in the Mass Effect universe some of the little details slipped my mind.

"You're not military?" he continued when I offered no answer.

"Hah, not even close," Troy answered.

"Sorry, I just thought…when I saw the way you handled those weapons and how you worked with the unit…"

"Just basic weapons training," I finished quickly, not wanting to elaborate on exactly what we knew or how we knew it. "Nothing formal."

"Hm. Well too bad you didn't have any basic medical training," Daniels said, "otherwise you'd have known to take it easy with this much medi-gel holding you together."

"Is it bad?" I asked. It was only then that I realized she'd probably been trying to figure out the answer to that question for the last five minutes, but was having a hard time doing so at the rate the conversation was jumping around.

"Like I said, not serious. But we'll need to get you to a dermal regenerator. I'm hoping Normandy's sick bay has one."

 _That sounds really fucking bad. Only reason you'd need a dermal regenerator is because there's so goddamn much flesh missing that they literally have to grow it back for you._

Shepard and the others had finished their conversation, I realized. It wouldn't be long until we were headed to Mars.

 _Shit, Kaidan._

I still wasn't sure if there was a way for us to dramatically change the future, but given that Kaidan misses half the war due to one little skirmish with a Cerberus AI, I had to at least try something. This could be the testing grounds, so to speak. A way to see if we could have any impact on the course of history aside from a minor side note about two civilians boarding the Normandy during her escape from earth.

Mind made up, I was on my feet and heading to the elevator in seconds.

"Where are you going?" Daniels asked. I turned to find her and Troy rising to come after me.

"You said I need medical attention, right?" I asked. "I ain't gonna get it by standing around here."

I caught Shepard's gaze for the first time since talking to her back at the LZ. She was . . . surprised, maybe? Perhaps a bit shocked that a young guy like me dressed in what must have been outlandish clothes and a huge bloodstain on my shirt had the wherewithal to approach her after we'd just witnessed such a tremendous catastrophe. Couldn't blame her. If I were in her shoes I likely would've had a similar expression on my face.

"Commander Shepard," I called out just before the door was about to close. Kaidan hit a button and the door slid back open.

"I apologize, Commander," Daniels said quickly, grabbing me by the arm and attempting to hold me back despite our noticeable size difference. "This civilian was wounded during the attack, he's a bit out of it right now."

Seriously? That was how she was going to make it sound? Well, two can play at that game.

"What the hell you talking about? I'm perfectly clear in regards to my mentality. I just need to talk to Shepard for a second."

Well, maybe I wasn't going to play the game so much as throw the board aside and rewrite it.

"It's all right, Corporal," Shepard said. "We've got time. What's your name again?" she asked me.

"Donovan," I replied. "Womble. My cousin Troy and I were . . . taking in the sights when the Reapers attacked."

"I see. Caught a stray bullet? We can get you patched up in the infirmary."

"Yeah. Well no, they meant to shoot me, although this isn't a bullet wound. Guess I looked like an easy target compared to the squad of Marines backing me up, but I gave a hell of a lot better than I got."

I swear I saw a brow raise, but in the games Shepard never really shows too much emotion. Apparently that translated to real life as well. James and Kaidan, on the other hand, were flat-out surprised.

"You let a civilian fight in the most brutal war humanity has ever been in?" Kaidan asked Daniels.

"They didn't give us much of a choice, sir. We—"

"It was our fault," Troy interrupted. "We saw all the shit going down on earth and couldn't just sit by. Might as well have guns in living hands where they can do some good."

No one said anything. Whether it was shock or frustration was anyone's guess, but it was getting a bit annoying that everyone seemed to think civilians were completely useless. I mean, I know it's the army, but really. Who the fuck do they think won the Revolutionary War?

"Yes we're civilians and yes we know how to use guns, why is everyone so surprised by that?" I asked.

"Daniels?" Shepard uttered, both asking what the hell was going on and telling Daniels to end this little scene.

"Sorry, Commander. It's the medi-gel. His entire abdomen is pretty much made of it right now."

"Right. Get the civilians to the medbay. Do what you can to patch him up."

Whoo, talk about lightheadedness. I hadn't really noticed it before, but standing to my feet must have flipped a switch. Felt like I was drunk on vodka, whiskey, wine and beer all at the same time. Bad disorientation, even worse hangover. I swear someone had set all the lights on the ship to disco setting; if they weren't constantly changing colors they were strobing and the entire cargo bay was spinning because of it.

Shepard and the others had stepped out of the elevator and in my haze I barely managed to realize I was being ushered inside. Still, I wouldn't give Daniels the satisfaction of admitting defeat, and I had just enough clarity of mind to remember some of the shit that was bound to happen on Mars.

"Kaidan!" I yelled as Troy and Sorola stepped in the elevator beside Daniels and I. "Watch out for the robot! It'll beat the shit out of you!" My senses were slipping so quickly I could've been whispering for all I knew, but the stares I got from just about everyone in the room confirmed that I'd gotten the message out.

Satisfied, I slumped over and passed the fuck out.

* * *

When I woke up—if you can even call it that; more like opening your eyes after getting too much smoke in them—I saw I was in the medbay. Classic Normandy; shining walls, shining floor, shining ceiling. The whole damn place looked like it was made of glass. Not regular glass, naturally, the glass you can look through and see a perfect image of the other side. More like the really cheap shit that reflects a very blurry version of what's really there.

Still, super shiny.

My abdomen felt considerably better, and by that I mean it felt like my own flesh rather than some adhesive substance with healing properties. I checked to see if—yep. No shirt on. That explained why it was so damn chilly. Still had my jeans on and I saw what appeared to be my bag and hoodie on the floor beside me.

I was lying on one of the medical tables. That made sense. Apparently the procedure had already been performed and I was just in recovery. That or something had gone horribly wrong and I was having an afterlife experience. My mind works in strange ways, believe me I know it.

"Hey," Daniels shot out from my right. I was getting more and more accustomed to her voice, believe it or not. "Looks like he's awake."

She was talking to someone? Duh. Troy. I was still a bit groggy so I didn't quite have the capacity to turn and look for them, but I knew Troy wouldn't be far.

Daniels was the first one to enter my fuzzy field of vision. Oh, so maybe that's why the walls of the medbay weren't very good mirrors. Or it could've been that they really were shitty, I honestly don't remember at this point.

"How do you feel?" Daniels asked.

 _Sweetheart, if you asked me that question any other time I would give you an honest answer._

"Better," I replied. "Procedure went well I'm guessing?"

She nodded, reviewing a datapad. She'd changed out of her armor and into a game three regulation Alliance uniform—would've been a bit odd walking around Normandy in full body armor—and damn but it was strange seeing the difference. For one thing she was about three inches shorter, still a good five seven if I were to guess, and a bit more . . . how do I put this delicately… attractive. Not that I was thinking about it like that at the time, I was just noticing the difference for the first time. Curiosity, I swear.

"The new tissue grew in quite well all things considered."

I raised a questioning brow.

"You did tell Major Alenko to watch out for a dangerous robot."

Ah yes. And now the unpleasantness was about to begin.

I sat up and kicked my feet over the side of the bed, angling to find Troy. He stood just a few feet away at another bed, his face a mix of gratitude that I was okay and worry that I'd spilled a little too much in my medically-induced vulnerability.

"You all right bro?" he asked, and he meant the question in more ways than one.

"I'm good. How long was I out?" I asked neither of them in particular.

"About an hour," Daniels replied, walking from her position at the end of the bed to my side. Her omni-tool came to life immediately and she started taking scans. "Never used medi-gel before? Tends to have a bit of an effect on you if you're not used to it. Especially when used in such a large quantity."

I chuckled. "Never had reason to before today."

"Well you're in remarkable shape for a civilian, aside from your lungs. Smoker?"

Heh. I always knew that was going to bite me in the ass one day. I'd just hoped that by putting off seeing a doctor I could live in blissful ignorance as to just how bad I was. And yes, I'm aware that smoking is a terrible habit and has become more of a taboo in our modern society than being in a relationship with an inanimate object. The way I see it, we're all going to die at some point. Whether I die tomorrow or fifty years from now, I really don't give a shit, so I might as well take away some of the stress with nicotine and enjoy however much time I have.

"Yeah," I replied. "Nasty habit, I know, but we've all got our vices." Thankfully the liquor wasn't so obvious. Or it could've been, but that was probably more commonplace in this day and age than smoking.

"Mm-hmm," Daniels grunted, eyeing the datapad. "No military training whatsoever? You've got the build, and obviously the predisposition towards smoking."

"None," I said. "Just like to stay in shape. Comes in pretty handy when, you know. Reapers are invading the planet."

That got a legitimate laugh out of her. Damn. Guess it wasn't too soon after all.

"Well, you'll have to get them replaced if you want to live beyond thirty."

Wait—my lungs? What the fuck?! Was she telling me I wouldn't have lived past thirty back in my time? Holy shit! Just…fuck!

Apparently Daniels could see some of the bewilderment and absolute astonishment on my face. "Don't worry, it's a relatively simple procedure, and you've got time."

Fuck. If I hadn't made it here, I would've been dead by thirty years old. Then again, I was likely to die much sooner in the middle of his war with the Reapers.

Either way, Daniels didn't seem too concerned about it, so I averted my gaze and found Troy again, eager to get off that line of thought. "You okay then?"

He nodded. "Couple scrapes and bruises, mainly from that damn rifle. Thing kicks like a mule."

I smirked. Strange sidenote, ever since high school I never willingly smile. Don't know why, don't really care. The best you'll get out of me is a smirk, probably just indicative of my wise-ass personality. Unless of course you say something absolutely fucking hilarious, in which case all bets are off and I'll laugh my ass off. Otherwise, a smirk means I'm in good spirits and approve of whatever's being said.

"Awesome. So where's my shirt?" I asked, standing to my feet and rummaging through my bag to find it. No luck. I grabbed my hoodie—a bit too big for me, which suited me just fine as it ran long down the back and made me feel like an Assassin's Creed character—and pulled it on just to get Daniels to stop staring. I knew she really wasn't, but the mere thought that she could at any time look over and see me half-naked wasn't one I liked to entertain. Hell, despite being so damn good-looking I'm just about always fully clothed.

There goes my sarcastic side. Sorry, I can't turn it off.

"That shirt isn't going to survive quite as easily as you, I'm afraid," Daniels said. "You bled about three pints into it. Even if we cleaned it out, it would smell like blood and dead flesh."

"I don't give a damn, that shirt's got sentimental value. If I've got to scrub it by hand with a toothbrush for the next ten years I'll do it."

Daniels offered me a bit of my own medicine, a smirk with a note of acknowledgement behind it. She was catching on to me better than I'd thought.

"I can't stop you from taking it back," she said, crossing over to a desk on the opposite side of the room and grabbing a black cloth, "but until then wear this. It'll do the job and it's not soaked in blood."

She flung the thing at me and only then did I realize it was an Alliance shirt. Not military, at least I didn't think so. Just a regular T-shirt with the Alliance logo on back. It'd work for now, so I unzipped the hoodie, pulled the shirt on, and zipped up again.

Okay, fully clothed, all internal organs checked out and flesh back where it should be, now…what the hell was next?

Shepard. Kaidan. I had to find out what was happening on their end and whether or not Kaidan had followed my advice. I couldn't remember exactly what happened between Kaidan and the AI—it had been a year since I'd played game three, after all—only that Vega forced the AI to crash, it approached Kaidan somehow and beat him shitless, then Shepard took it down. Hopefully my warning was both vague and clear enough to get the message through. Leave the damn AI alone, let Shepard do the work.

And then there was the talk Troy and I needed to have about what the hell we were doing there and what the hell we were supposed to do now that we were there. We hadn't been able to speak openly since we'd stepped out of the airport and it was starting to wear on me. I knew if we didn't discuss it with each other it was bound to slip to someone else, more so than my little scene in the cargo bay.

"Thanks Daniels," I said, referring to the medical treatment and the shirt. "Can you give us a minute?"

"Sure," she said, looking at both of us curiously. "I'll be in the mess hall when you need me." With that she took off, and once again I have to marvel at how strange it was seeing a door open by itself. I've seen it in games and on TV before and even in buildings like Wal-Mart or something, but watching a door literally unlock itself by spinning a mechanism in the center and then slide apart all on its own was a sight to behold.

But after that brief moment of interest, it was back to business.

"Dude, what the fuck is—"

I held up a hand quickly to silence him. Only by some miracle I remembered that EDI was probably still listening to everything we said. Hell, she was an AI. She probably didn't even have to listen, it just came through whether she was paying attention or not. You know, if the phrase "paying attention" even means anything to computers.

"EDI, are you there?" I asked.

A beat barely passed before her voice responded. "I am everywhere on Normandy. Although I believe the more pressing concern is how you know of my existence."

"Trust me, that's a concern to me too. Once Shepard's back I'd like to have a discussion with her about everything we know. In the meantime, would you mind turning off the audio receptors in the medbay so my cousin and I can chat privately for a minute?"

"It is already clear that you have knowledge no civilian should have. What is to prevent me from believing that you have ill intentions in mind and plan to further them?"

"Really?" Troy asked. "We're getting the stink eye from an AI. Oh damn, that rhymed."

Well, that was new. Suspicion isn't really a concern for EDI in the games, aside from when someone deserves it like the Illusive Man or Udina. Being questioned by the most awesome AI in the known galaxy was cause for a bit of concern.

"I just saw my planet and my people getting burned alive by the Reapers," I said, a bit of anger laced into the solemnity. "I swear, we're just going to have a personal discussion I'd rather not share with anyone else."

There was a moment of consideration on EDI's part, during which I could almost see Jeri Ryan from Voyager nodding her head diagonally. For some reason I'd always imagined that if EDI were given a human body it would be Jeri Ryan's.

"Very well," she finally said, although it really wasn't that long a wait. "I am turning audio processors to the med-bay off. I will reactivate them once you leave the room."

I let out a breath. "Okay, now we can—"

"Wait," Troy interrupted. Apparently we were taking turns. "EDI, how do we know you actually did what you said you were gonna do?"

No answer. We waited for several seconds.

"Shepard's hot," Troy continued, no doubt baiting EDI into answering if she hadn't done as asked. "Although some might argue you're pretty hot too. You know, when you get your body." Still nothing. "Joker wants to fuck you."

"I'm pretty sure we're good," I said, although I couldn't resist a light smirk.

"Yeah I think so. That or she's just really good at holding herself back."

"Probably both. So um…" How the hell do you start a conversation like that?

"Yeah. This is eleven different kinds of fucked up." Troy began pacing the room, looking at the glass window to the mess hall beyond. Not many people in there aside from Daniels and Sorola.

"How on God's shiny throne did this even happen to us?" I asked, knowing neither of us had the answer. "I guess I'm beyond the point of questioning whether or not it's real—I mean that wound was definitely very real—it's just . . . this is fucking insane. If you'd told me that when we stepped out of that airport we'd be in the Mass Effect universe I never would have considered taking that flight."

Troy chuckled at that. "Who are you kidding, you know you would've gone anyway."

Huh. Well, maybe, maybe not. I mean, the chance to see the games unfold firsthand would've been an amazing proposition, but not if it meant never being able to go back to my friends and family. A life lived without loved ones is not only pointless, but heartbreaking. Besides, the war of ME3 isn't the ideal game reality to find oneself living in.

I think that's when it hit me for the first time that I might never be able to go back. There was nothing to miss in terms of material possessions or a fascinating career, but the people I cared about . . . the thought of never seeing them again hit me like a cannonball to the chest.

 _So if all that has meant the most to me isn't present after my last breath, count me with the fallen sheep and send me to the depths._

The lyric blurred through my mind. There was a line by Being As An Ocean that applied in just about every situation in life. In this case, the lead singer Joel was talking about loved ones who didn't share his faith not being around in the afterlife. Dunno if you're a religious type—I'm really not, I only believe in God and the law of love—but lyrics like those always stick out to me. The kind of thing I can relate to. Troy and I had had more than one discussion about what it would be like to have to live without our family and friends.

In this case, it may actually be true. If we were really in the future and this really was our reality, they were already dead. If it were a different reality, the possibilities were endless. There may be an infinite number of variations of our loved ones, in which case they weren't truly dead. Or they may not even exist in some realities.

Damn, quantum theory can produce some interesting thoughts.

"So what do we do?" Troy asked.

I'd been wondering the same thing ever since the airport. Shook my head. "I dunno. I mean, do we tell Shepard? Do we try to stop what's going to happen? Do we try to figure out how the hell we got here so we can get back? I don't know what we're supposed to do in this situation."

He nodded. Neither of us could even look each other in the eye, there was so damn much to consider. You ever feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders? In this case it really seemed like it was, because with as much as we knew about what was coming for Shepard and the galaxy in general, we could prevent a lot of bad shit from happening. Maybe even come up with a way to stop the Reapers that didn't involve destroying all technology in the galaxy, merging synthetic life with organics, or merely assuming control of the Reapers.

Heh. Assuming control. ME2 throwback.

"What if we tried to make a difference?" Troy asked. My eyes found his for just a moment and he knew how crazy it sounded. "I mean think about it, you already started us down that road with Kaidan. I'm assuming that's what you were trying to do, keep him out of the hospital for half the war."

I nodded, staring at the floor. "Yeah."

"So with all the knowledge we have about the future, doesn't that mean we almost have an obligation to try and change some of it? I mean there's some pretty shitty stuff that can be avoided if we just threw a little advice out here and there."

"But then you have to consider what we might do to the timeline. Think about it; yeah there's some crazy shit that goes down during the war, but if it doesn't happen exactly like that there may not be any chance to save this cycle from the Reapers. You watched Butterfly Effect, right? Even the smallest change can fuck things up pretty bad."

"Isn't that a chance we should take? Be honest with yourself, are you okay with just letting things play out the way they do? Thane dies, Mordin dies, Legion, Anderson, Shepard—how can we just sit on our asses while all this shit goes down? Even if it's worse, which I think we both know it can't really get much worse, at least we'll be trying to make it better."

Honestly, I couldn't argue with him. I wanted to try as much as he did, but my more logical half kept voicing the same concerns on a loop. Temporal paradox. We might make it worse. There was no guarantee that we could even change anything in a significant way.

On the other hand, what would that make us if we didn't try? I knew Troy, I knew he was set on this plan no matter how many reservations I had about it. If you have the chance to save lives—billions of them, in fact—what kind of coward does that make you if you don't take it?

I shut my eyes, as much attempting to resolve the situation in my mind as to relieve the headache forming behind them. Another of my curses: chronic headaches, often advancing to migraines. Maybe there was some kind of treatment in this future that could stop all hell from breaking loose in my skull.

"Okay," I finally said. "We'll see what we can do when Shepard gets back. If Kaidan comes back in one piece we'll at least know we can have an impact on changing things. If not, we'll try something else with a bit more direct influence."

"Like what?"

"There's plenty of things we can change bro. Once we leave Mars we'll be headed for the Citadel. If I remember right, the Council basically tells humanity we're on our own, but Sporatus offers Shepard help if she can find the Primarch on Menae. Then there's Thane; Aria's been forced to the Citadel because of Cerberus; Udina's corrupt—"

"Hold on," Troy stopped me. "Udina?"

"Yeah, what about him?"

"When we were on earth we kept referring to Anderson as the Councilor, and no one corrected us. What if Udina's not even Councilor? What if there are a few things different here than in the games?"

Damn, he was right. Could've just been that everyone was still familiar with calling Anderson the Councilor, but unlikely. The Marines preferred calling him Admiral and only called him Councilor because it was necessary due to his status. What I mean is that if he weren't Councilor someone would have spoken up and said so.

Shit. What if there were some differences? What if all our information was inaccurate? Obviously not all of it was, because we knew where to find Normandy and that we were going to Mars, just like the game. Hopefully there were only small differences.

Then again, Butterfly Effect. Small differences create larger ones down the road.

"So the Cerberus attack," I said, back to our discussion.

"Might not happen without Udina."

"No, you know the Illusive Man, it'll happen. He'll find a way. Which means that until something happens to make us take a different course, we assume that everything is going to happen just like it does in the game and . . . I dunno. We take this seriously, like we would if we really were at war. Which, I mean, we kind of are now. We should come up with some contingencies or something."

Troy nodded, a brow raised in agreement. I hadn't even expected the last part. Sounded much smarter than anything I should've been capable of coming up with. Made sense though. In a situation like this you don't just walk into each moment blindly, expecting everything to go according to plan. You plan for the worst along with your plan A and hope that you don't have to use the backup.

I sighed. This was all getting so goddamn serious.

"Let's come back to this later," Troy said, and I was glad for the suggestion. I knew my mind needed a break from all this heaviness.

"Good idea. Everyone will be wondering what the hell we're talking about in here."

"Should we tell anyone?"

I shook my head. "No more than they need to know. We'll tell Shepard, but let's not mention that this all comes from a video game. Or that we're from the past. We just say we know things very few people do—in fact some things no one knows but us—and that we can't reveal how we know it."

Troy humphed. "They'll probably treat us as hostile. They're at war, for God's sake."

"Probably. So we just show them that all we want to do is help. If we can achieve that the rest should come easily."

Another sarcastic chuckle on Troy's end. "Because everything so far has been a friggin cakewalk."

I nodded. "Poor choice of words. But it'll be doable. We just wait for Shepard, show her we just want to help, and roll with whatever happens. If they listen to us, awesome. If not, we try harder."

"Yeah. If they don't label us traitors or lock us in an asylum for the duration of the war."

It was my turn to laugh. "You know we belong there anyway."

I think we both needed that moment. It really wasn't even funny, but we still found ourselves laughing and the entire weight that I felt on my shoulders lightened considerably. No matter what was going to happen, we could do this. You might be thinking it was false bravado brought on by a few seconds of calm during the storm, and I would usually agree wholeheartedly, but the Wombles are a strange group of people. When we decide we're going to do something, we're going to do it. Even if that meant getting into a fistfight with a damn Reaper.

After our conversation in the medbay we made our way out to the mess hall, where Daniels and Sorola sat eating something pasty and quite horrifying. And I don't mean pasty as in color, this shit literally looked like toothpaste they were spooning into their mouths. I learned later that it was standard nutrient paste for Alliance soldiers loaded with everything one needs to stay healthy, but at the time I stared in disgusted silence as they gulped it down.

"Have a nice chat?" Daniels asked, dropping the spoon and pushing her bowl towards Sorola.

"Illuminating," Troy replied, and we both took seats at the end of the table. "Where the hell is everyone? I know there's just a skeleton crew on board, but this looks more like a bone crew."

"All essential personnel are at their stations," Sorola said between mouthfuls. "Which, in this state, is pretty much everyone. We're just waiting for the Commander to come back so we can get our orders."

"And us?" I asked both of them. "What do you think the Alliance will do with us?"

Sorola shrugged, taking another bite of paste, so Daniels answered for him. "More than likely you'll be dropped at the next Alliance-friendly port. Maybe Arcturus or the Citadel. Although…"

I have always hated it when people attempt to lead the conversation. Sometimes when people end a sentence like that, I simply stare at them, letting them know if they want to say something they should say it rather than lure me into something I'm clueless about.

In this case, however, I was out of my element and more than a little concerned about my identity being nonexistent in this reality. "Although what?" I hated myself for asking it.

"It's nothing, stupid thought," Daniels replied.

Have I mentioned how I hate this? Well, I hate it even more when people make you beg for something they want to say. Just fucking say it, for God's sake! My reaction isn't going to be any different if I ask for it rather than you telling it to me.

Forget that, my reaction will be much different because not only are you an idiot, you've pissed me off simply by playing with the conversation.

"Lay it on us," Troy said, gritting his teeth just as much as I was.

"I was just thinking, with your combat experience and how naturally you worked with the squad back on earth, the Alliance might actually benefit from having you with us."

Had Sorola not just swallowed his paste I swear it would've been flying out his nose. "Are you serious? You're not—you've got to be kidding, right?"

"Why?" Daniels retorted. "You saw them, they're both good with a gun, they both know field procedure despite claiming they've had no training. We're in the middle of a galactic war with the damn Reapers. I think we need all the help we can get."

When we decided we would try to help out with the war, I don't think either of us had that in mind. I mean, let's all be honest here. It's great to fantasize about being a total badass hero of humanity and fucking shit up for anyone who gets in our way, but most of us don't have the ability to make that happen. I sure as hell didn't, and Troy was probably thinking the same. Before I'd stepped into the Mass Effect universe, sure, put me in Shep's shoes. But now that I was here, I didn't want to be anywhere near a battlefield. That shit's intense, you can't even imagine. I was quite all right with sitting on the sidelines feeding information to the good guys that would help them win. I had no intention of stepping into that role myself.

"That's a bit much, don't you think?" I asked. "I mean yeah we know our way around guns, but there's procedures, training, a bunch of shit we're absolutely clueless about. Even if we did join the Marines, we wouldn't be on the battlefield anytime soon."

I think a bit of reality sunk into Daniels' eyes after my statement. Her brows shrugged and she grabbed the bowl of paste back from Sorola, to his dismay.

"Still," she continued, "it'd be a shame for talent like that to get cooped up in some apartment on the Citadel. You should talk to Shepard. Maybe she can keep you onboard for a while; train you until you're ready to hit the field."

She just wasn't getting the message.

"Believe me," Troy said, "we'll be talking to Shepard as soon as she gets back."

"Oh really?" Sorola asked, a bit of a chuckle in his voice. "Because as I recall that was a very intelligent conversation last time."

I had to give him that one. Smirk. "I wasn't at my best, I admit it. Thanks to our brilliant medic over here." I gave Daniels a falsely annoyed look, which she returned.

"Hey, don't blame me. I can't help it if you're a lightweight."

Heh. First time I've been accused of that, actually.

I was perfectly content to let everyone laugh, distracting them from the sliver of curiosity Troy had planted in them, but I was rapidly learning that nothing escaped Daniels' notice. She seemed to be more aware of the fact that Troy and I were out of place than even we were.

"You're not from earth, are you?" she asked. One simple question with such a complicated answer.

Honestly, yes. From earth, a hundred eighty years prior. And yet, honestly, no. This earth was no more familiar to me than the damn space ship I was flying in. Which, yes, if you think about it makes total sense, because the Normandy is familiar to me through the games, but so much was different. The essence of really being there can't be captured in a game. Same thing with earth. It wasn't the same place it had been when I lived on it. So . . .

"No, we're not," I said. If I had to lie, I could at least be partially truthful to myself. "We're from a small colony on one of the moons of Antirumgon. You?"

"Iowa, born and raised," Daniels said, lifting a glass of water I hadn't realized was beside her in a toast.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," I blurted, a laugh escaping me before I could stifle it.

"Why's that?" Daniels asked, a knowing smile on her face.

"Believe me, we've seen the vids and heard the stories about the Midwest," Troy said. In truth, we had lived those vids and stories. "My heart goes out to all afflicted by it."

"What about you, Sorola?" I asked.

"Rio," he replied. "My entire life before I enlisted."

"Rio de Janeiro?" Troy asked. Then, when Sorola nodded: "Isn't that where the N-school started out?"

"They're still there," Daniels said. "Or . . . were. It's only been two hours and I still can't even imagine what the Reapers have done to earth."

Damn. Way to make a light conversation heavy as fuck. We all dropped our heads, not that anyone had planned to, but it just made sense. There were a bunch of poor bastards living through hell back there. Least we could do was wish them a few good words and the strength to kick some serious ass.

"My granddad used to tell me stories, you know," Sorola said, breaking the silence that had pervaded the room. "About N-school. He was N6 when he retired, almost made it to the top. Took an IED to the back, left him in a wheelchair."

"I'm sorry," was all I could think of to say.

"He was a damn good soldier. After the accident he went on to teach at the academy. Couldn't run around with the recruits, but he was still a hell of a marksman and he gave them all a run for their money. Said no one but the best of humanity ever survived that place. There are fewer than a dozen N7's active today, maybe only thirty N's in total. So far Shepard's been the only person in the galaxy to actually kill a Reaper. So if there are so few people who can do the job, why are we running? Why aren't we staying to fight?"

Fuck me in the sphincter. Definitely wasn't expecting the conversation to go that direction. I thought he was leading up to some kind of happy remembrance of his granddad, or some hopeful monologue about how Shep would see us through this mess. Didn't think I was gonna get that sucker punch to the gonads.

I didn't even know what to say, or if I should say anything. Sorola was moping quietly; Daniels was casting a somber glance my way, as if I should know what to say since I seemed to talk so much. Truth is, I'm an asshole. Sorry to disappoint, but there it is. I barely even know how to manage my own emotional state, let alone try to influence someone else's in a positive way. That's what Jesus and hippies exist for.

Surprisingly enough, it ended up not just being a moment of total shittyness. Troy spoke, soft but stern at the same time, and I swear I'd never been more proud of someone.

"We're leaving because it's the right thing to do. Believe me, I wanted to stay and kill every last one of those shits as much as you did, but that's not an option. This isn't a war we can win just by killing more of them than they do of us. They've got us completely outgunned to the point where if we destroyed half of their force we'd still lose the war. We can't do this conventionally. We're leaving because as much as it sucks, as much as we hate leaving everyone behind, we have to get help. We have to take the galaxy by storm and hit the Reapers with everything we've got. Not just humanity. Not just the Council. Everything and everyone. That's how we win this war. Together, all of us. That's why we're leaving. Because Shepard is the only person in the galaxy that can make that happen."

Holy shit. I didn't know whether to stand up and applaud or ask where the hell my cousin went. It was fucking brutal. Would've scored him +100 Paragon points in the games. In fact I could almost see a meme with Troy's face and a caption reading exactly that.

Even if Sorola didn't agree, he couldn't very well say that Troy was wrong. Plain and simple truth backed up his statement. Only an idiot argues with the truth.

"Well, now that that's resolved," Daniels said, attempting to bring the conversation back from a much heavier place, "I think you two could use some rest."

Really? She was going to suggest a nap at a time like this? Damn this woman was starting to get on my nerves, and at the same time she had this way about her. Like she knew she was being annoying and was only doing it to have a bit of fun. Plus she was fucking always right, I was tired despite the short hospitalization. Hadn't slept during the eight-hour flight (got delayed due to storms) and it had been a good two or three since, plus we'd departed at 10 am and I'd been up since six. No idea what time it was now, but since we were in space it didn't matter. I'd been awake for around fifteen hours despite having been torn apart by metal and shot at by fucking Reapers, so yeah. I was dead tired.

"That actually sounds like a good idea," I said, knowing that I was going to regret agreeing with Daniels sometime down the road. She seemed like that kind of girl.

"Good. You can take bunks in the men's quarters. Shepard should be back soon, but it'll still be some time before we reach the relay. I'll wake you when we're ready to jump."

Sorola stood up and offered to show us where the quarters were, but we both declined.

We knew exactly where they were.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** First off, thank you guys so much for the support! Over 150 views within the first two days and 241 total, 21 follows and 7 favorites? Not to mention the follows and favs I've received personally, this is way more support than I could've hoped for. You guys are keeping the dream alive!

Well, there we are. A bit of a slow chapter this time, kind of a cool-off from the intense opener. Surprised that we want absolutely no part in the action? Well, the part about cops in the family from chapter one is true, and once you've heard the stories about craziness with firefights you start to think that is not the life you want. At this point, Troy and Donovan know that being in the middle of the Reaper War is going to be a shitstorm, so they're happy just to step aside and let things unfold. For now. Make no mistake, there will be consequences simply because we exist in the story; thus is the tragedy of dimension-travelling. So watch out. In the next few chapters things are going to start amping up and you'll see exactly why I'm so excited that you guys are already enjoying the story. It's about to get better.

 **Toothless is Best:** Thanks and congratulations for being the first to review! High praise indeed, my friend. Hope you enjoy the rest!

 **Spiral83:** Let us see! I've been throwing ideas around with a few others on the forums, so I hope to bring you guys something original and compelling. It'll start getting crazy next chapter!

 **TheRangerBoy:** Why thank you, your enthusiasm for this story outstrips even my own! This chapter was considerably less action-packed than the last one, so watch out for Chapters 3 and 4. I think you'll enjoy.

 **nainale:** Thank you! It certainly is. My first fic, I mean, although if I may be so shameless it is a great beginning ;) All arrogance aside though, I only recently discovered that fanfics are even a thing so I knew I had to post my own. Here's hoping you'll stay interested for many chapters to come!

To all my followers and faves, thank you much for your support. Every time I see a button indicative of positive encouragement for this story brings happiness to me and my fellow SI characters. I apologize for the delay this chapter; I was in Chicago for a few days and wasn't about to pay to use the hotel's wifi, which brings us here. As atonement for my tardiness, I'll be posting Chapter 3 within the next couple days. Until then, enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

_We are each a nation, independent, free of all weakness._

Holy shit. That sounded ominous.

 _You cannot even begin to fathom our existence._

No, I can actually. You exist due to a programming error in an artificial intelligence created by the first race of extra-solar intelligences. These idiots were getting slaughtered by their own synthetic creations, so what did they do? They created a special synthetic to stop the other synthetics. And look what happened, that synthetic created more synthetics to wipe out the organics and the bad synthetics, and the same damn thing happens every fifty thousand years. You guys are hyper-intelligent—you don't see the gaping hole in your circular logic there?

 _Humanity and all the species under its wing shall fall to the coming storm._

Or I guess you could just blame it on shitty writing and EA rushing the game to meet a deadline. Although, if this is simply the future of reality and not some kind of alternate universe, I guess they were just writing what happened. Or will happen. Either way, someone fucked up pretty bad. I was sixteen when I saw the ending of ME3 for the first time and even then I knew someone idiotic had been put in a position of influence they had no business being put in.

 _In the end, you will be nothing but dust and embers._

* * *

I gasped and bolted upright in my military bed, sucking at air like a cheap vacuum that had just swallowed a quarter. I'd been dreaming, naturally, but a dream with no imagery attached. Only darkness, a few chilling quotes from Sovereign and Harbinger, and my own countering thoughts. That last one, though . . . that hadn't been from the game. That was something else entirely. The only time I ever truly feel fear is when I come across something unexpected, and being as cynical as I was, there wasn't much that could take me off-guard.

So why couldn't I shake this feeling? I guess it wasn't fear, exactly. Confusion, perhaps, laced with the lingering question of why such a wayward thought had crossed my mind when I should have been in total control of it. For most people sleep is a way to relinquish all efforts of retaining the illusion of control; to simply fall out of touch with the rest of the world for a few hours and live in sweet ignorance. For those of us who have learned to remain slightly active even during this unconscious state, it's a way to play God by creating events of our own making. Nothing should have occurred in my dreams that I didn't want to happen. Certainly not a Reaper threatening me specifically.

And that was perhaps the worst part. It didn't even feel like a dream. It didn't feel like my subconscious mind living out its fantasies or replaying memories. Rather it felt like I had almost entered someone else's, or they had entered my mind forcefully. Twenty-one years of experience with controlling my brain in its most vulnerable state and I'd never felt anything even close to that before.

The new shirt Daniels had given me was drenched in sweat. Shit, I really had been troubled by the whole thing.

Troy was sleeping peacefully on a bunk at the other end of the room. When they said it was a barracks, they meant it. Four triple-bunkbeds lined the three walls that weren't obstructed by the door, with only a couple tables and chairs crammed into what little space was left. Dim lighting, just light enough to let you see but dark enough not to wake anyone who was asleep.

Damn. This was really my life now. I think that was the moment it actually set in, that no matter how many times I closed my eyes and wished it away, I would always open them to this. The realization that I was stuck here, most likely forever and with no hope of getting back to my old life, hit me like a pebble being dropped into a pond. A slow but inevitable fall.

I breathed in deeply and exhaled, attempting to set my nerves at ease. Throughout the course of my life I've been through a myriad of events that left me broken and hollow more than once. You always hear people talking about hitting rock bottom, but what they fail to mention is that you can do so more than once. Life isn't like movies or stories; you don't just come out invincible because you've been through some rough shit. You pick yourself back up, dust yourself off, press on for a time, and fall again. At least, in some cases. Perhaps there are others who simply have their lives in a much neater fashion than mine, I can't really speak for them. What I know is that after falling to the depths so many times and repeatedly correcting your faults, you grow numb to the effects of emotion. You've been through it all—the absolute bottom and the most glorious top—so many times that nothing in between even fazes you anymore. Hell, even the extremes of joy and depression become a bit repetitive. My hope is that if you understand this, you'll also understand how disturbing it was that a simple dream could set me so on edge.

Then again, I had literally just broken the laws of time and space by being transported into the Mass Effect storyline. Maybe a few other rules went out the window, as well.

I kicked my feet over the side of the bunk and rested them on the stinging cold floor beneath. I've slept in full clothing plenty of times before—alcohol or a few more illicit catalysts usually being the cause of such a thing—but I can never fall asleep wearing shoes or socks. Many of my quirks revolve around my sleeping habits. Normally I can't sleep with light of any kind or without a constant source of air, but on rare occasions such as these my body makes exceptions. If only my mind could work in the same fashion.

 _It's real. It's happening. Whether or not it'll last or you'll find a way home, who knows. You just have to make the most of it and press on._

Yes, I know it's odd and borderline MPD to converse with myself in my head, but that's how I've learned to work through my problems. By pretending that I was essentially two different halves of myself, one half representing my agreement on a particular topic and the other being the opposite, I could objectively look at every predicament in my life and find a reasonable course of action. Or at least, as reasonable as the moment warranted.

Reason and logic. I love them both, yet fate or God loves throwing me into positions where both are constantly questioned.

The door to my left slid open unexpectedly, and though I was decent it still took me off-guard. I hate when people invade a space of solace, especially one where I'm expected to drift into that most vulnerable of states called unconsciousness.

Well, at least it wasn't a random crewman. Even though all I could see was a silhouette against the white-blue light behind her, I knew it was Daniels. Shepard's hair was shorter, and no other woman aboard would walk into the men's quarters where only Troy and I were attempting to find a reprieve.

She saw me sitting up in bed and leaned against the door frame, her slender figure accentuated in the darkness. I apologize to all the female readers who take offense, but I am a male and we do notice those kinds of things every time a woman enters our fields of vision.

"Can't sleep?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. Didn't want to wake Troy, I suppose.

I found my socks just a few inches away from my feet and began slipping them on. It was too much of a hassle to stretch out my Converse shoes and lace them up, so I decided to leave them for the time being.

"That wonderful gift of insomnia," I breathed. I knew my voice felt deep and menacing, but at the moment I didn't feel like pretending to be anything else. When I wake up, whether it's after a few minute's nap or twelve hours of decent rest, I simply don't have the energy to be anything but my most basic self.

"Shepard wants to speak with you."

Really? Now that was interesting.

I stood to my feet, satisfied that the socks were on well enough even though they felt crooked on my feet, and walked past Daniels slowly so my footfalls didn't wake my cousin. When we were both outside in the hallway I turned to face her and the door behind her slid shut once more.

"I'm guessing the mission to Mars went well."

"In a way. Apparently they ran into some trouble over there. Lieutenant Alenko had a pretty close run-in with a Cerberus AI."

Pretty close. So at least it wasn't as bad as the game.

"You want to tell me how you knew about that?" Her voice wasn't chiding or disapproving, but rather genuinely curious. Perhaps a bit concerned. She was wondering how in the hell an average civilian (at least to her knowledge) could know anything about Cerberus being on Mars, let alone that Shepard and her team were going to be there at all.

It may be prudent of me to mention that I studied psychology in college. Wasn't much—I barely lasted two semesters before dropping out, and from a community college, at that—but a healthy mind and a desire to learn go a long way. I've always been fascinated by psychology, morality, and spirituality; even more so in understanding how the three work in unison. So when it comes to reading people, at least in simple matters like these, I get by.

"I'd rather tell Shepard," I said. No disrespect intended to Daniels, but Shep was the one I needed to convince.

"What, don't trust me?"

"Well, to be perfectly honest, no. Not yet. I just met you three hours ago."

"And I saved your life. In more ways than one, if you think about it."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful," I replied, trying my best to appear sincere. I've learned that even if I am sincere my jerkish nature sometimes gets the better of me, so I often have to go out of my way to show what I'm feeling. "But this is something bigger than both of us. Once I've talked to Shepard, I promise, I'll tell you everything you want to know."

She looked at me deeply, never moving her eyes from mine. Trying to decide if she could trust me.

"She told me you asked EDI to go offline when you and your cousin were talking in the medbay."

I nodded.

Another long look on Daniels' part. Here stood this woman whose first name I didn't even know, and she was analyzing me more thoroughly than anyone had ever bothered my entire life. I understood, of course. We were in the middle of the largest assault earth had ever faced and suddenly Troy and I show up looking for Shepard with knowledge we had no business knowing. I just never had anyone try so hard to understand me.

"And what did you tell her?" I asked.

Daniels shrugged. Still not breaking eye contact. I would say she didn't even blink, but in hindsight that sounds foolish. Everyone blinks.

"She asked me what I thought about you." She nodded her head in the direction of the barracks. "Both of you. Wanted to know what she's dealing with."

Understandable. "And?"

"I suppose that depends on what happens after you talk to the Commander."

Well played. Well fucking played. I couldn't help being amused in that moment and offered a light smirk. Generally when people toy with me they get nothing but a snide remark or a fist to the face depending on how annoyed I am, but Daniels did it so well I hadn't even seen it coming. That deserved no small amount of kudos.

I took that as my cue to get my ass over to Shepard and began walking to the elevator. "Her cabin or the conference room?"

I also gleaned a little satisfaction in stumping Daniels even further. In her mind, I had no business knowing anything about the Normandy, certainly not where Shepard would want to hold such a serious conversation. I could almost feel the daggers she was glaring at the back of my skull.

"Conference room," she replied flatly. I didn't need to see her face to know our next chat would be a difficult one.

I stepped into the lift and the door sealed behind me. EDI knew where I was going so there was no reason for me to voice any command. The lift started up immediately, and with the few moments I had to myself my mind raced with possibilities. Despite being so nonchalant with Daniels, I really had no clue how I was going to handle this talk with Shepard.

Troy and I had agreed to tell her we knew things, although we'd yet to come up with a realistic story explaining how we obtained that knowledge. Claiming that we were highly classified government officials was one option, but I threw that one out the window due to lack of realism. No one would believe that coming from two guys in their twenties. Telling her we were hacker-geniuses was another, and that we'd gleaned all this information from the Catalyst. Of course, we would then have to tell her what the Catalyst was, and she'd no doubt throw us in the loony bin. Breaking the ice slowly and with one revelation at a time was the only way this was going to be believable.

So, that left me with option three. Painting myself as an information gatherer, similar to the Shadow Broker. Probably just as unrealistic as the others, but it was the best way to reveal that I had a ton of information without also revealing secrets that would lose Shepard's trust entirely. The real problem would be Liara. As the new Shadow Broker she would have a hard time believing (and rightfully so) that there was another entity out there who had not only eluded her notice, but also gathered a wealth of information she could only speculate about. It was a risk, but the best idea I'd come up with so far. If it didn't work, I'd just need to come up with a Plan D.

I think we all know if you have to consider more than three plans, none of the ones following that will work. Plan C was my only hope, barring the one where I just lose it and spill everything in a mad stream of incoherent thoughts. That one I was saving for the psychiatrists.

The lift stopped abruptly and I had to grab the handrail to steady myself. Corrected though the speed of the elevators had been, their comfort had taken a bit of an arrow to the knee.

Oh, whoops. Wrong video game universe.

The door slid open and my breath caught in my throat. It seemed I'd never get used to being taken aback by the sights from the games literally coming to life. The CIC was exactly as it had been in the games, just as everything else had, but seeing it with my own two eyes—not displayed on a 55-inch television screen—was almost majestic. The galaxy map alone had my jaw on the floor for a solid minute before I realized the crewmen were staring at me.

I took one last look at the room and veered to my right. It had been some time since I'd played the games, but I'd done so at least two dozen times and as such most of the details were imprinted on my brain. The Marine standing at attention at the entrance to the war room gave me a curious glance, but let me through nonetheless. Everyone aboard the ship likely knew by now that something was out of the ordinary concerning their two civilian guests.

More awkward looks from the security personnel inside the room with the clearance scanner. I'd always wondered what the hell it was in the game; basically, it was a holographic grid that scanned any aspiring entrant for weapons, chemicals, and the necessary clearance to be in the war room. Not sure why they'd scan for weapons considering everyone on this ship was armed, but I guess it made sense if they were expecting visitors aboard. Even then, there wasn't a lot of sensitive data past that barrier.

Then the conference room. Not much to behold there, just an empty room of glass walls and a window that…

Oh, damn. The window. I suppose it wouldn't have been much different than looking at the stars from earth, but we seemed to be travelling pretty fast. Must've hit the relay and been travelling at FTL speeds. Though the stars were so distant, I could still see a bit of displacement with each second. The ones really far away didn't move hardly at all, whereas the closest stars clipped by at a pretty good rate.

Not the most beautiful sight I'd seen since being here, but it held sentimental value. During the hardest times in my life I would go outside at night and lay on the hood of my car staring up at the star-dotted sky. Knowing that I was now in space surrounded by and able to travel to those same stars was…comforting, in a way. Strange, I know, but it was almost like being at home. And seeing as home is where the heart is, I was almost beginning to feel welcome in this world.

I shook off the feeling with a diagonal nod—years of practice at not giving a damn about much does that—and continued down the curving corridor to the next door. The green holographic display spun for a moment, presumably doing one final scan to make sure I was allowed access, and then vanished with the hiss of the door sliding open.

The war room wasn't much to behold. Really the only noteworthy quality was the large display table in the center of the room currently showing a static feed of earth from several miles out in space. Shepard, Kaidan, and Liara all stood on the opposite end of the table from me, staring intently at the hologram. When the door behind me sealed shut, their eyes turned almost simultaneously to mine.

The sight of Liara standing next to Shepard was a bit disconcerting given that she was the first alien I saw with my own two eyes, but in the last few hours I'd witnessed the Reaper invasion of earth and seen the majority of the Normandy firsthand. Though my breath caught in my lungs for a moment and I stared far longer than politeness usually dictates, I was becoming more and more accustomed to this futuristic reality. Playing the games for so many hours of my life probably helped absorb the initial shock, as well.

There were a few seconds of awkward silence where I assume the trio was giving me the once-over. Or more likely the twice-over. No doubt I'd come across as simply another civilian in the war-torn chaos that had been my encounter with Normandy's crew on earth, but now that I'd tipped my hand so to speak there must have been a new level of curiosity and concern.

 _Well, at least Kaidan's okay. There's a plus._

Since there was little doubt in my mind that I was going to be doing most of the talking, I figured I might as well get the initial unpleasantness over with. I just had to remember two things: don't overdo it, and show a willingness for cooperation.

"So I trust the mission went okay." _Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! This isn't some friendly meet-and-greet!_

Shepard's face was dead. No emotion whatsoever. That usually means one of two things: the person is completely uninterested in what's being said, or they're so goddamn angry they have to deadpan because that's the only way for them not to lose it. She was a rather good-looking woman despite having blonde hair too short for my tastes (I know, I'm part of the minority that generally isn't attracted to blondes) but the cold glare she was giving me destroyed any thoughts of attraction. Forget being thrown in an asylum; I'd be lucky just to leave this room alive.

"Cerberus was waiting for us before we even landed," Shepard said, her voice just as flat and expressionless as her face. "We ran into trouble with a mobile AI that stole what we were after and damn near killed us."

I nodded, not sure which emotions I should be displaying right now, if any. "Daniels told me as much."

"So you can understand why I'm questioning how you knew that AI would be at the Martian Archives."

Another nod. "I can." Then, whether it was dramatic timing or me simply taking so long to clear my throat, I continued. "Commander, I know this is going to seem really coincidental, but I'll do my best to explain."

"I'm all ears."

 _Shit. Here goes everything._

"My cousin and I are…well, I suppose it doesn't matter what we are. What matters is what we know and how we know it. We've followed your career extensively, especially the last three years involving your attempts to mobilize the galaxy against the Reapers, and it sparked a long and tedious process that I can't even fully explain. I've seen things in this universe that I dare to say even Dr. T'Soni remains clueless of."

At that Liara's brows raised—or at least, the muscles in her face did, seeing as asari don't have eyebrows—a mixture of confusion and concern. That volatile cocktail seemed to be going around quite a bit.

"I know about the Shadow Broker," I said, "as well as a dozen other items of interest very few people in the galaxy know. If you run my identity or my cousin's you won't find a trace of us in any database, not even among your underground associates, Doctor."

Liara's face went from confused to suspicious in a moment's notice, even more than it had been when I'd walked in the door. "How do you know about the Shadow Broker?"

"As I said, I've devoted a rather sizeable portion of my life to obtaining knowledge, the same as you." Granted it was only a few days' worth of gameplay, but I was quite happy to let them believe it was more like years of research. "But knowledge only gets you so far. Simply knowing about the protheans and the Reapers wasn't enough. I began looking for more, specifically how to stop them and what they were after. As you can imagine, if one can reveal mysteries such as those, it becomes a trifle to dig up secrets in our own galaxy. You have knowledge of what happened to the protheans through the beacons, and knowledge of the Reapers through Shepard's experiences with them. I have accounts from damn near every source in the galaxy that contain knowledgebases extending beyond our own cycle's."

I gave them a second to digest that, but Shepard was quick on her feet. The games never did justice to how intelligent she was.

"You're saying there are more objects out there like the beacons?"

"Impossible," Liara refuted. "I have spent nearly sixty years chasing down every scrap of information I could find on the protheans. It is impossible that a human as young as you has put in the amount of research necessary to achieve the knowledge you claim to have."

Heh. I had that one covered.

"Should I put that knowledge on exhibit then?" I asked rhetorically. No one stopped me, so fuck it. "Doctor Liara T'Soni, daughter of Matriarch Benezia, who passed away two years ago after being indoctrinated by Sovereign. She joined former Spectre Agent Saren Arterius in an effort to stop his lunacy, but was subverted by the Reaper's mind-altering effects. You, on the other hand, led a life of mediocre academic achievement studying the protheans until Shepard found you, at which point you began to realize the threat of the Reapers."

"That only proves that you can wade through the extranet," Liara said calmly. Being the Broker had certainly grounded her to reality more than being a shy archaeologist on the fringes of civilized space.

"That's not even the tip of the iceberg, Doctor. I have information on everyone that's been involved in Shepard's attempts to stop the Reapers, some of it mundane, some of it incredibly useful. I could tell you Major Alenko's deep secrets as well, if you'd like, but I'd rather not do so without his permission."

Kaidan's face lightened a shade. In all honesty, all I knew about him was that he'd been one of the first human biotics to be properly trained at Jump Zero. A few fuzzy pieces about his family back on earth, but all the inconsequential details came and went as they pleased. I really needed to get a pen and write everything down.

"I dunno Commander," Kaidan said, his low, raspy voice filling the room with skepticism. "This smells like a Cerberus trick to me."

"I've been in Cerberus," I falsely admitted, playing into their image of me. "I've also been in the Alliance. Hell, I've had a hand in the turian and asari political and military machines, as well as those of half a dozen other species. I've been to Thessia, Palaven, Sur'Kesh, Tuchanka. Name a place of power in the galaxy and I've probably been there knee-deep in a shitstorm of interstellar activity."

"Let's say it's true, then," Shepard said, looking me straight in the eyes. "You obviously have knowledge only a few people in the galaxy have. I only have two questions going through my mind. First, can I trust you, or are you an agent of the Reapers or Cerberus? Second, why did you seek me out back on earth? What do you intend to do with all this information?"

There was the kicker. I couldn't really say _I just want to help you win the war against the Reapers_. It wouldn't make sense for me to have had that knowledge for so long and only then revealed it when the Reapers were on our doorstep. Or more accurately, tearing the house down. Although…holy shit! Brilliance hit me in the face like a splash of cool water on a summer day, and I knew even without giving it much thought that I had to roll with what my mind had just shown me.

"Commander, do you remember how you were treated before you and your team took down the Collectors? With every discovery on your end, the Council summarily shot it down as fantasies or Saren attempting to pull the wool over your eyes. The beacon on Eden Prime was lost, as was the Ilos VI, Vigil, so there was no way for anyone else to corroborate your story. If the first human Spectre and savior of the galaxy couldn't mobilize the galaxy to act, what chance would two then-teenage humans have? We sat on our information because, like you, we had nothing to substantiate it with. We knew the only way anyone would believe us was if we approached someone like you and laid it all out. I'm telling you this now because I believe there is a way to stop the Reapers that doesn't draw this war out to the point where trillions of lives are being lost. And I know that you are the only person who can convince the rest of the galaxy that this is the course of action we need to take."

I really do hate monologues, especially when they're coming from me, but the situation warranted it and by the looks on everyone's faces they were thinking the same thing. Maybe it was one of those instances where it sounded so insane it actually made sense in a way, or maybe Shepard actually identified with what I said about the Council not paying attention to her. In that moment all my psychology training had been erased from my mind; I was just clinging to the desperate hope that some small part of her would trust me.

No one spoke for several long seconds. Felt as if no one even breathed. The air was thick with the weight of everything that had just flown from my mouth, and it took no small amount of time for even me to let it sink in. Kaidan's face was lined with thoughtful wrinkles and Liara had begun pacing at Shepard's side, one hand propping her chin up and the other supporting her elbow. Shepard, however, still stared me straight in the eyes.

I wouldn't say I'm much of a look-you-in-the-eyes kind of guy. Someone had once told me that all they saw was pain when they looked in mine, and seeing as that was something I did my best to hide from others, I can usually only meet someone's eyes for a few seconds at a time. But something was different about Shepard, about the way she looked at me. Much like Daniels she had been digging deeper, past the surface of pain that everyone saw, but for more than just information. She was looking for character, for recognition of my soul. If she could find something admirable deep within those hazel-green spheres I might stand a fighting chance. The very fact that she was capable of digging so deep would have unnerved me in any other circumstance or with any other person, but I only held respect for her with this show of ability. It revealed a fair amount of wisdom on her part, and she was smart to go looking for nobility rather than trustworthiness. The most noble men and women I've ever known had their faults just like everyone else.

Have you ever experienced an event that lasted only for seconds, yet it felt so much longer? I could lay claim to a few hours' worth of memories that seemed to last for days, but never until that moment had I experienced such a weighted exchange in such a short amount of time. This must have been one of the awe-inspiring side-effects of being in proximity to Shepard.

After what seemed like years she finally broke eye contact and I subconsciously let out a bottled breath. Intense doesn't even begin to describe it.

"You have to understand how this looks from my side," Shepard said, now pacing around the circular projection table to my side of the room. "As you said, I've been warning the galaxy of this for years and haven't been able to put a dent in the galactic community's doubts. And now that the Reapers show up, I've got two civilians banging on my door with more information about our enemies than anyone. To top it off, you're apparently not just any average civilians, but ones that have been trained in warfare and want to offer help. Best case scenario, you're an unknown that could potentially undo everything we're working toward. Worst case, you're infiltrators for Cerberus or the Reapers. Same result."

"You're forgetting that even though we have the potential to create a catastrophe, we also have the potential to help the galaxy avoid it."

"No, I'm not forgetting that part. I'm just weighing the risks and benefits."

Damn was she good. Years of appealing to diplomats and fighting wars had made her an exemplar of both politics and combat.

"Commander," I said, "I can't force you to accept my help, and I can't make you believe that I'm telling the truth in a single conversation. I despise Cerberus just as much as you, and I have no reason to ally with them or the Reapers. I'm not as blind as Saren; I have no illusions about what will happen if we submit instead of fight. You can probe me to see if I'm indoctrinated. We all know the effects aren't quite so…well, effective, without constant intervention from a Reaper handler. All I'm asking is that you give me a chance to prove I'm sincere."

Shepard thought about it for a moment, as did the others. I've never been much of an orator, but when put in the spotlight and given some conviction, I do my best to scrape by.

"And if we give you that chance?" Kaidan asked. I had the feeling if he hadn't, Shepard would have. "It's just as easy to stab us in the back as it is to help us at this point."

Jesus Christ these guys were cynical. I understand it, of course, being a major cynic myself, but it's not until you run into someone just as annoying as you are that you realize exactly how shitty cynicism can be when you're on the receiving end.

"Like I said, it's your choice. You don't have to do it. But honestly, with the Reapers invading earth and well on their way toward the heart of Citadel space, there are going to be a lot of risks involved. Shepard," I said, and she met my gaze. "You've saved the galaxy half a dozen times already by taking risks, making difficult choices. I know there's absolutely no reason to take my word on this, but I'm telling you, I will not let you down."

Shepard's brows furrowed, a look that I myself wear all the time when I'm having a hard time believing something, and she considered everything I'd said with tremendous insight. As she'd mentioned, there was a pretty huge risk just in choosing to entertain this ridiculous story, but the potential benefits balanced the scales quite evenly. I was simply glad I wasn't the one who had to make the choice.

She sighed rather forcefully, the only real display of emotion that I'd seen in her, and leaned back on the table behind her. Did that mean she was starting to trust me? At the very least, she had to think about the possibility. I was proposing nothing less than what could end up being the most help she had ever received from anyone, Alliance, Cerberus, or the Council. Wise as she was for being wary of the entire encounter, it would've been foolish to flat-out refuse.

"Do you know why we went to the archives on Mars?" Shepard asked, taking me a bit off-guard. The answer was a pretty obvious yes, but I was still figuring out the boundaries of safety for revealing everything I knew. Certainly there was little harm in telling her the truth, but a few of the more precise details may not be necessary.

"Yes," I replied. "Doctor T'Soni has been working with the Alliance teams there to unlock a few of the more well-hidden secrets in the prothean databanks. Their largest discovery was that of a device the protheans were working on that they believed would solve the Reaper problem, but they don't know the exact specifications. You've sent the data to Admiral Hackett, I guess?" I received a slow, deliberate nod. "If he hasn't already, he'll soon learn that it's a weapon."

"What kind of weapon?" Kaidan asked.

Well, shit. I couldn't very well explain that without explaining the Catalyst, because in the game they really don't figure it out until the very end. And if I explained the Catalyst so early on without knowing exactly where on the Citadel to access it, that could cause a little problem.

On the other hand, if mentioning the Catalyst sparked an interest to go looking for it, and that in turn led to finding it, the Council would have no reason not to support the Alliance's attempts to build the Crucible. With the Council races fully supported to the project it might take considerably less time to build the damn thing, thus saving a few millions lives.

But then, there was so fucking much to do in the games that I was racking my brain trying to figure out the exact timeline. If I sped up a certain event here, say finding the Catalyst and building the Crucible, what impact would that have on events further down the line? When you think about it, Shepard has a lot of shit on her plate throughout the war and the slow development of the Crucible gave her the time to go off on loads of other important missions. Even if we did manage to build the Crucible in half the time it takes in the games, there were still problems spread throughout the galaxy that needed solving. The turian/salarian/krogan situation, the geth and quarians, Horizon, Thessia, the assault on the Citadel; not to mention the dozen odd smaller assignments Shepard receives along the way. And it's the resolution of those conflicts that unites the alien races and essentially saves the galaxy. Could we really hold off on all that to dive headlong into the Crucible project?

Fuck time-travel. It's so goddamn complicated. All I really knew was that I was there to make a difference. To change things, because the way the game ends is just too shitty and I wanted not only to save a few billions lives (including Shepard's) but to fix a completely broken story. I know, that's the writer in me getting way too involved in reality, but the fact stands.

So yeah. Fuck it had worked pretty well for me in the past, and I'd already changed the course of history for the better with Kaidan. On to attempting something a bit more grandiose.

"I don't know the technical aspects of it," I said, mind fully committed even if one half didn't agree with the other. "It's not just a prothean design; it was conceived hundreds of thousands of years ago and each cycle managed to pass on the blueprints to the next, adding to it in the hopes that eventually someone would finish it. The way it's designed now, it is capable of stopping the Reapers."

"By destroying them?" Liara asked.

I nodded and shook my head in the same motion. "Potentially. Its exact function depends on the user. Like I said, I'm not familiar with the technical aspects of it, but when triggered it sends some kind of power surge through the mass relays, capable of destroying the Reapers, or dominating them."

"Dominate?" Kaidan asked skeptically. "You're telling me we can control the Reapers?"

"That's exactly what the Illusive Man said on Mars," Shepard added. Great, way to appear even more as a Cerberus operative.

"The Illusive Man doesn't do anything without a damn good reason," I said. "He doesn't know what the device is capable of yet, he just has a gut feeling."

"What you're saying is impossible," Liara piped up. About time she rejoined the conversation—I was beginning to fear I'd scared her off with that bit about her mother. "The mass relays utilize a highly advanced mass effect generator to send any object with a similar generator to FTL speeds. They are not capable of transporting raw energy, let alone enough to do what you claim."

 _Yeah I really don't know a thing about the relays lady, I just know what I saw in the game._

But that definitely wouldn't be good enough. They needed solid proof, and they needed it from someone (or something) that could explain it a hell of a lot better than I was doing.

They needed the Catalyst.

"Doctor, you know as well as I do that the relays—like the Citadel—were created by the Reapers. We're not completely sure what they're capable of, especially when foreign technology is introduced. The only reason the relays work as we know them to work is because we've followed the path of technological advancement the Reapers left for us. If we begin to think outside the box, there's a lot more we're capable of."

"And I suppose you have a way to back all this up?" Shepard asked.

"I do. In analyzing the Crucible designs you'll eventually find that in order to properly fire, it requires a power source called the Catalyst. It's…well, to be honest I don't really know how to describe it, only that it's located deep within the heart of the Citadel."

I damn near asked _"Do you remember Vigil telling you about the master control unit in the Citadel's core?"_ but realized that would imply I had an almost firsthand knowledge of that conversation. More low-key was the goal.

"When you activated the beacon on Eden Prime or spoke with Vigil on Ilos, did you happen across any mention of the Citadel's master control unit?"

Shepard only nodded. I couldn't even imagine how strange it must have been for her to have someone come out of the woodworks with details she'd thought were made privy only to her.

"That's actually the Catalyst," I continued. "It's some kind of highly advanced AI system that controls the Citadel and the relays. Usually it remains uninvolved in galactic affairs and allows the citizens of the Citadel to use its technology as they desire. However, if you can locate it—and assuming the Crucible is functional and docked with the Citadel—it has the ability to destroy the Reapers or subvert them to your will by using the Citadel and the relays as a delivery system."

Liara stood rooted to her spot, mouth agape. Kaidan looked as though he'd just been told the Reapers had mysteriously retreated from earth and self-detonated. Shepard, however, remained mostly unfazed even by this revelation. For all I knew she could be reeling with the ramifications of everything I'd just told her, but she kept her cool and looked at me with determination to get to the heart of the matter. Whether I was a raving lunatic or not, she knew there was at least some merit to what I was saying and if it was true, it could be a game changer.

We stood there for several long moments. Oddly enough it was only then that I realized I'd left my shoes down in the barracks; what an idiot I must have looked like standing there in my 21st-century jeans, an Alliance T-shirt, and ankle-length black socks. Hopefully my feet were the least of their concerns.

"How is it you know all this?" Shepard asked. Well, time to divulge a major secret. The beacon on Thessia was a drop in the pond compared to what I'd just revealed about the Crucible and the Catalyst.

"There's a prothean beacon hidden in the Temple of Athame on Thessia," I replied. "Unlike the ones you found on Eden Prime and Virmire, this one has a working VI similar to Vigil that can tell you exactly what I did. The Catalyst is in fact the Citadel."

"That's…you're not…" Liara began. Poor…uh, alien. So many secrets had been kept from her despite her attempts to dig up the galaxy's past, and by her own people, no less. "The asari would never…Citadel law requires all prothean technology to be shared with the rest of the galactic community—"

"No offense, Doctor T'Soni," I said, "but you never wondered how it was that the asari managed to stay just ahead of the other races? To be frank, the salarians have more inventive prowess than your people, and the turians obviously have a greater aptitude for military affairs. Your diplomatic intellect and biotic abilities are still well beyond those of the other races, but how do you explain the leaps and bounds in other areas the asari have made over the years? Besides, if you don't believe me you're free to head to Thessia and see for yourself."

"Only a handful of our wisest matriarchs have the authority to enter the Temple of Athame," Liara stated. "I would not be allowed access even as Benezia's daughter. How could a human such as yourself possibly know this?"

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Doctor. You're the foremost expert on the protheans, the head of House T'Soni with Benezia's passing, and the Shadow Broker to boot. That makes you one of the most powerful asari in the Republics, if I may say so. You have much more clearance than you think."

I let the implications of my statement sink in. Technically I had been to Thessia, activated the beacon, and done so all with Liara's assistance in the game. I loved being able to tell the truth without it really being the truth.

Still, I was hoping that would be enough. I'd essentially revealed two of the biggest mysteries in the game before the need for their discovery had even presented itself. There was already an almost certain guarantee that something would get horribly fucked up somewhere down the line. Going any further would both confuse the hell out of Shepard and increase the likelihood of fuck-ups.

And I was exhausted. Do you know how wearying it is to spout a stream of completely nonsensical truth only to be met with skepticism and distrust at every turn? The very fact of knowing the truth while no one else does it absolutely devastating. Trying to convince a room full of people who had devoted years of their lives to learning these things that I somehow knew it all was not easy. After all, when you're studying something for years on end—say you're in college or something—and then comes along this wonder kid who knows everything about the subject with absolute clarity, don't you want to just punch him in the throat? You've spent years trying to grasp idea after idea, whereas this wiseass just magically has the answers to everything. It's infuriating.

Now, try to imagine you are that wiseass preaching to the choir. It's equally draining because they know the basics, but for the most part they don't want to believe a word you say because it's impossible. Impossible that someone could just come along with so little background in the subject and yet seem to know everything of consequence. Knowledge is power, and absolute power corrupts absolutely for those who wield it carelessly.

Damn. That's way more philosophical than I'm usually capable of being. Kudos to whoever came up with the first part of that line. Kudos to myself for improvising the rest.

"So," Shepard said, a tone of finality to her voice. The conversation was coming to a close, and I still had no idea which way the wind was blowing. "You've given us a lot of information to consider. Like you said though, it'll take more than a few minutes of talking for any of this to seem plausible."

"Of course," I responded. "Which is why I told you about the Catalyst and the beacon on Thessia."

"I understand. When we dock at the Citadel I'm going to bring this information to the Council, barring the part about the beacon. I'm sure Councilor Tevos will be more than willing to speak with me once she hears what I have to say. But there's no guarantee they'll believe any of it, and without their approval there's no way for us to access the Citadel's core. Which is why I'd like you to come with me."

I damn near choked on my own breath. For a second it felt like I was about to hiccup and throw up at the same time, and I'm sure my face lightened a dozen shades. That's saying something, considering how pale my skin is.

Me, on the Citadel? More importantly, in the presence of the Council? Talking to them?! No way, no way in hell I could pull that off. They were alien diplomats for Christ's sake with years of experience destroying people in a single sentence! I wouldn't stand a chance!

I nearly voiced my thoughts to Shepard, but knew that doing so would only undermine everything I'd just achieved—if, in fact, I'd achieved anything at all. I had to either go along with it and hope Shepard would do most of the talking or find a legitimate way to wriggle out of it.

"You want me to go speak to the Council with you?" I asked. "They're barely willing to do anything for you, and that's only because you saved their lives. Why the hell would they even listen to me?"

"You don't need to talk to the Council," Shepard said, setting a few of my nerves at ease. "Just Tevos." Never mind. "If what you've said is true she'll know about it, and she'll be more inclined to listen to you rather than a secondhand source."

Fuck. This was just not going my way. I'd never tried to play puppeteer before so it was a bit irritating that in learning how to pull the strings you also have to learn how to keep your hands out of the audience's view. But on the other hand, if that was necessary to gain Shepard's trust—and if a brief showing of hands would allow me to then recede behind the curtain—so be it.

For a second I was a bit disgusted at the entire puppet analogy, but stomped out the feeling as soon as it surfaced. Whatever it takes to save the galaxy.

I nodded, shifting on my feet slightly but trying not to show too much discomfort with the plan. There was enough mistrust suffocating the room already; I didn't need to add any more by being perceived as unwilling to put my plans into action personally. That was more the Illusive Man's game, and God help me if I was going to end up like that douchebag.

"Okay," I said. "If you think it'll help, sure. But there's one small problem. I won't be able to get through the security screens on the Citadel. Living in anonymity and with no identity tends to do that."

"I'm sure between EDI and Liara we can work something out," Shepard replied. "If you're going to be a part of shaping the galaxy's efforts in fighting the Reapers, you're going to need an identity."

I chuckled lightly at that. "You're the hero, Commander, the one on the frontlines. I'm just the guy giving you advice on how best to take down the enemy."

"From what I understand, you like to play hero yourself." Ah. Another reference to the near-death frenzy that had me duking it out with Cannibals back on earth. I wondered briefly if I should ask Daniels or Sorola if I really had been of any help, but put the thought out of my head. That was hardly the most pressing matter at the moment.

"Only when I have to," I said.

"If you stick around with us, you might find yourself in that position more often than you'd think," Kaidan added. "Better to be safe than sorry."

Wait, were they actually offering to keep me aboard and train me? If so that would imply that somewhere along the line I had made some kind of connection, that on some level they were actually going to trust me. Holy shit, I may have just done it.

The thought was cut short when Joker's voice came over the onboard comm system. At first I could've sworn he was standing right next to me, but a brief glance to my left assured me that wasn't the case. There was still so much to get used to in the future.

"Commander, we've just dropped out of FTL at the Citadel. Alliance Control's asking for a situation report on earth and the Council's representatives are asking for the same. I guess going on trial for treason doesn't disbar you from the Spectres, huh?"

Damn it was good to hear his voice. In the midst of all the chaos, Joker remained the one voice of jovial lightheartedness. I'd need to introduce myself and see just how well two smartasses could get along in the future. Back in my time it had caused more than one incident between myself and whatever idiot I managed to insult.

"Take us into dock, Joker," Shepard said, looking at the ceiling. Dunno why, it wasn't like there was a monitor up there with Joker's face. Just wiring and whatever the hell that polished metal was. "Tell the Council we'll be there first thing, and have EDI send a message to Tevos's assistant. We'll be wanting a more private meeting afterwards."

"Roger that. What about the Alliance? What do we tell them about Anderson?"

Christ, that was a depressing thing to consider. _Sorry, the human Councilor won't be attending because he's back on earth fighting the Reapers like any good leader should be doing._

"Tell them the truth. Anderson's still on earth fighting. They'll need to have someone fill in for him to represent humanity's interests."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

A thought hit me then while I was wondering who the hell would fill in for Anderson, and I had to get it out quickly just to make sure.

"Shepard, is Udina still earth's ambassador to the Citadel?"

A brow raised in surprise. "You're a collector of information and you don't know who our representative on the Citadel is?"

Well fuck.

"My cousin and I have been a bit busy the last couple years gathering all this information on the protheans and the Reapers," I quickly said, dodging the question. "In hindsight we probably should've kept a closer eye on events occurring on our own door."

Her gaze held, still a bit skeptical, but she was willing to let it go easily enough. "Udina took a step back from politics after serving as Anderson's aide for a couple years."

"That's putting it lightly," Kaidan interjected. "He was starting to be seen as a bit of a fanatic by his colleagues, especially in the eyes of the other races. The Alliance diplomatic corps gently forced him to retire to a less strenuous position back on earth."

Well, that could be a very good thing or a very bad one. On the plus side, he could no longer be used by the Illusive Man to stage the coup on the Citadel; on the down side, God only knew what the hell he was involved in with the war raging on earth. With Cerberus essentially under Reaper control, that meant Udina was a man in a position of relative power who could be easily influenced. Then again, hearing what Javik and the VI on Thessia said about their own political downfall—damn, why couldn't I remember that VI's name?—just about every politician on earth was potentially a timebomb for the civilians under their wing. I could distinctly remember stories about how indoctrinated prothean leaders strongly urged their people to undergo actions that ultimately made them even easier for the Reapers to harvest. Hopefully that wasn't the case here.

Either way, I'd need to find a way to let Anderson know to be wary of any and all political maneuvering on earth while the Reapers were there. Add that to the list.

"Why do you want to know?" Shepard asked me. I'd nearly forgotten what we were talking about.

"Nothing," I replied. "If he's not in a position close to the Council he can't do any harm. Last thing we need is a biased politician in the middle of this war. But I'm curious: who's going to take over for Anderson?"

"I guess whoever's highest up on the food chain. Most likely Admiral Hackett."

Now that I could live with. As long as things hadn't changed so much that Hackett was in danger of being killed or indoctrinated, we were in good hands there.

"We're thirty seconds out, Commander," Joker said over the comm. Immediately Liara and Kaidan headed for the door behind me and I stepped aside to let them pass.

"Come on," Shepard said. "We need to get into that meeting. You can follow us up to the human embassy."

She breezed past me and I turned to follow, suddenly realizing that I'd need to grab Troy and my shoes if I didn't want to make a complete ass out of myself.

"And after that?" I asked.

"We meet with Tevos," Shepard responded. "We tell her what we know and see if she can turn the other races to our side. Assuming we can manage to convince her, that is."

"And if we can't?"

"At the very least we should be able to get her interested enough to investigate your claims about the Catalyst. Then we just go from there."

Roll with it. That was a plan I could get behind.

"Okay," I said. "Let's do it."

"Get your cousin and meet us in depressurization when you're ready. Then we'll see just what kind of damage we can do together."

Okay. Fuck yeah.

Time to see the Citadel.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** There you have it folks, Chapter 3, as promised. As you can see, the storm is only just beginning to pick up speed. The Reaper nightmare was not just some moment of unconscious terror, but I'm not going to divulge any more than that because I want it to be a surprise, and as for the consequences of everything Donovan spilled, well... I'll just say this story is not going to be all sunshine and rainbows. Shit's about to hit the fan in a major way.

 **Spiral83:** Trying my best! Believe it or not this is the most I've written in such a short time since I finished my novel. Definitely having fun with the story and glad you are too!

 **Toothless is Best:** Faultiness corrected. By the way, how would you like a position as my editor/fact checker? There was a um...accident...involving a mass effect field...with my last editor.

 **Dawn of Destruction:** Here you are! Hope you continue to enjoy the chaos of a completely screwed-up ME-verse.

 **V-rcingetorix:** Quite a comprehensive review! Let me thank you sincerely for the concrit, and try to address some the faults you pointed out. As for leaving with Shepard, it just seemed the easiest way to stay alive. Being anywhere on earth, even with Anderson, during the invasion spells almost certain death, especially for two civilians from the past who are completely baffled by their predicament. Being with Shep would be dangerous if we intended to go on missions with her, but as the Normandy itself faces relatively little danger, it sounded like a good idea. Another thing is that I can be a real idiot sometimes. In moments like those, dozens of ideas race through my head and I just go with whichever one sounds good, even if I haven't given it much thought. Not perfect reasoning, but characters have to have flaws to make them believable.

As for the interactions with the soldiers, at that point Donovan is basically a little loopy from the medi-gel and still holding on to the possibility that none of it's real. The soldiers, on the other hand, are almost as frazzled as we are by the absolute chaos of the invasion and therefore its understandable that some people would act irrationally. I was operating under the premise that earth is in a military state and the more controlling soldiers would expect total cooperation from any civilians they came across. Finally, that moment in the game with the shuttles hit me harder than almost any other moment in my time playing ME. Donovan's got a really jack-ass personality, as you'll see later, but he's also very sensitive about things that matter to him. It's not that he's indifferent about the attack, he just does his best not to reveal how he really feels and in intense moments like that he can't hide it anymore.

So, thanks for the praise and advice everyone! I'll work on my transitions, and hopefully you'll come back for more!


	4. Chapter 4

"You told her WHAT?!" Troy yelled in my ear.

Let me back up a bit. After my conversation with Shepard, Kaidan, and Liara I promptly went back down to the barracks and woke Troy, alerting him to the fact that we were arriving at the Citadel. A million questions had followed, the foremost being what had happened to Kaidan and precisely what I had revealed to Shepard in our little meeting, but I managed to keep the tide at bay by telling him that Kaidan was all right and we would catch up once we had a few minutes to ourselves.

We'd then headed to depressurization, passing Joker as we did—damn but I still wanted to talk to that guy!—and met Shepard and the others. Oddly enough depressurization didn't seem to make much of a difference, as I later learned that the Citadel's gravity was only slightly lighter than earth's. I thought it a bit odd, considering that a lot of species surely came from more high- or low-pressure worlds. I mean, the volus had to wear exo-suits just so their flesh wouldn't split apart, and the elcor could probably jump a good fifty feet because of the extremely high gravity on their planet. Although I suppose that considering the majority of spacefaring species were bipedal, it made some bit of sense that gravity would be similar on our different worlds, barring a few oddballs.

After depressurization, the door slid open and we stepped foot on the Citadel. At first I was sure we'd just entered another room on Normandy, which essentially we did; it was just the docking tube linking us to the Citadel. Then I was suddenly met with the sight of at least two dozen people—and now when I say people, I don't just mean humans. Turians, salarians, asari, even a hanar in the corner and possibly a drell sitting on a chair in the reception area. Such a huge place, and they were all just hanging out waiting to get a shuttle to their homeworlds. News of the invasion had spread quickly apparently. Naturally the first thing everyone wanted to do was go home and be with their families before the war hit the homefront.

That wasn't the only view that had my mind racing. Just to our left after exiting the Normandy, a length of glass spanned about forty feet allowing a view of the entire Ward arm. It was beyond surreal. Not only were we in space—there was a massive surface littered with skyscrapers and lights of every color imaginable. I've been to a couple big cities, and this was easily the biggest yet. Reminded me a bit of Chicago, minus all the water. Just empty space beyond the density of huge towers.

And to think, this was only one Ward. There were four more, plus the Presidium. Granted, not as many people lived on the Presidium, but still. The Citadel wasn't just a trading post; it was a country, complete with its own culture, multiracial political climate, financial institutions… Just one look out the window and I knew I didn't belong here. I'm a small-town Missouri kid, for God's sake. Too much time on the Citadel and I'd be chewed up and spit out like tobacco.

Troy had had the same expression on his face as well. Just the sight of shuttles flying from building to building, the neon lights that could be seen even at this distance, and the massive crowds of people was beyond reason. You could truly get lost in a sea of faces in this place.

"It's something to see, isn't it?" Shepard had asked. We were in a hurry and I knew it, but there was no stopping our first look at the Citadel.

All I could do was nod and whisper, "Yeah."

If our plan didn't work, everyone on this station was going to die in a few short months. Nothing like the responsibility of a few million lives in the immediate vicinity to overwhelm you.

"Come on," Shepard said. "We have to go."

We tore ourselves away from the window at her urging and followed through decontamination and the security screening toward the elevator. Oddly enough, no Bailey there to greet us. Maybe Joker had already talked to him when we were requesting permission to dock, which would make sense. Why would the Council send a guy down there to talk to us when they could just pick up the phone? Useless waste of time and energy.

The elevator ride had been a long one, and I'm pretty sure we changed direction more than once. This was no regular elevator, you understand—this shit was straight out of Willy Wonka, going forward, backward, and side to side in addition to up and down. On a station like the Citadel, uneven as it was, I suppose that was a necessity. Unless you just wanted to fly a shuttle everywhere.

Oh shit. I was gonna have to get behind the wheel at some point.

Soon enough the elevator skidded to a halt and we stepped into another reception area, this one for the human embassy on the Citadel. Amazing how receptionists manage to always portray that façade of pleasantness despite having to deal with ignorant, uncaring people every second of the day. Even more amazing that the majority of those receptionists were asari rather than human. Of course, being the most commonly accepted race in the galaxy due to their influence and cultural entanglements of a rather physical nature, asari were the logical candidates to work in any race's embassy.

Following Shepard's lead, we veered to the right trailing the group and up a rather lengthy staircase into a final hallway. On the left were doors leading to Bailey's office and the secret Spectre room, and on the right was Anderson's office. Damn but this place looked nice. Not a hint of dirt or dust on any surface in sight, no trash whatsoever; almost appeared that no one ever visited this part of the station except to clean it. Generally in huge cities—which, make no mistake, is exactly what it was—nothing is spotless. People are chaotic and messy forces of nature. Perhaps it was just the fact that I'd worked maintenance so much in the past, but it didn't seem physically possible that everything could remain so pristine.

Then again, we were in space. Between depressurization and decontamination, I doubt a single molecule of bacteria ever made it further than the airlocks. Certainly with this many species living in harmony, any cross-contamination could be lethal. It made me wonder how the Citadel could cater to everyone's life support needs without introducing the risks involved with certain everyday viruses and bacteria. Surely there had to be more than just the volus and quarians whose immune systems couldn't adapt to cross-species bacteria. Or perhaps our protein structures were all similar enough that such things didn't matter. To simply be able to all breathe oxygen was a monument to the fact that our cellular structures had to be more similar than I'd first imagined.

But alas, the vague notions I have of science and curiosity are getting the better of me. In truth I don't know much at all about chemistry or biology—definitely not about alien adherence to our standards. I guess the point is: how the fuck are we all so different yet able to live in the same atmosphere completely unaffected by each other? Maybe I'd need to take a few lessons on xenobiology and how it works in unison with human systems.

In any event, we had entered Anderson's office only to find an asari awaiting our arrival. After an extremely brief chat, Shepard and company headed off to a shuttle bound for the Council Chambers, leaving Troy and I alone in the office.

That was when I'd broken the news. I told Troy everything that had transpired in my conversation with Shepard; that according to how I'd described it, we were information gatherers who'd managed to stay in the shadows; that we knew everything she did about the Reapers, plus a little extra; that we had a way to stop them; that we would need to find the Catalyst and try to find a way to get the Council's support for the Crucible.

Which brings us back to the moment.

"You told her WHAT?!"

I didn't think I was supposed to answer. After my five-minute spiel detailing everything in my talk with Shepard, Troy had stared at me dumbfounded for several seconds. Only when I opened my mouth again did he resort to raised voices in order to stop me from making it worse. We had agreed to fill the crew in on a few things so the Reapers would have less of a bite, but we'd never discussed going into specifics; certainly not mentioning the Catalyst or the beacon on Thessia. Those were two of the major reveals of the game, and trifling with them so early on was sure to cause some chaos. Even if we didn't fully understand how our actions might affect the outcome of the war, both of us knew the potential of our monumental capability to fuck things up. By the look on his face, Troy thought I had already started us down that road.

"So let me get this straight," he continued, emphasizing each word. "Not only did you lie explicitly by saying we've been to other planets and found prothean tech, you told Shepard about the beacon on Thessia and the Catalyst? What if they fucking find the thing?! What if the Crucible isn't built yet so it doesn't find its way out or whatever, and then decides to just blow up the entire fucking Citadel because it thinks we're worthless?"

"Okay, for one thing, I didn't exactly lie," I argued, even though it was a flimsy attempt. "We have been there. Kind of, in a way. But all that aside, if I hadn't mentioned the Catalyst or given some tangible proof to back up my story, I never would've gained Shepard's trust."

"And you think she really trusts us?"

"Well we're here, aren't we? We're on the fucking Citadel, dude, waiting to speak with one of the Councilors. I'd say that counts as a bit of trust, yeah?"

His face flexed in frustration and he turned to head toward the window at the far end of the room overlooking the Presidium ring. It was a gorgeous sight really. The "ceiling" of the ring was actually a virtual display of a garden world sky, giving you the feeling that you were outside on a beautiful sunny day. White cumulus clouds rolled lazily by against a blue backdrop, and seeing as there were several garden zones littered with foliage and ponds absolutely everywhere, it was easy to get lost in the idea that we weren't even in space. It all felt too comfortable considering what was going to happen to this place in the future.

Troy was probably imagining the same thing as we stared out the glass. Every one of the people walking down these streets was destined to die at the hands of Cerberus or the Reapers. I mean, maybe some of them managed to hide or get to evacuation, but the fact remains. Millions of lives.

"That's why I told her," I said, staring out the window with one arm leaning against it. "Whether we make things better or worse, we'll be trying. Maybe if we just try hard enough something good will actually come out of it."

No argument from his end, at least. More than likely it wasn't the fact that I'd revealed those little morsels that worried him, but rather how it would affect the chain of events down the road. However, given that those events were pretty shitty even without our interference, there wasn't much that could be said for just letting it all happen naturally.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't. We were fucked either way, so might as well go with the option that had a sliver of a chance to make things better.

The next half hour or so was spent going over everything we knew about history according to the games and what we could do to improve upon that history. It occurred to me only minutes into our discussions that we actually had no idea what had happened, seeing as Mass Effect was a game with consequences based on the player's actions as Shepard. We were no longer in control of those actions, so events could have played out in a number of ways. Shepard had given us both standard-issue Alliance omni-tools shortly before heading to her meeting in case she needed to reach us for whatever reason, and after a rather lengthy period of time just figuring out how to work the damn things, we managed to get linked up to the future's version of Google. There we were able to learn a few things about the past, but a huge majority of Shepard's hunt for the Reapers was obviously classified. We'd have to ask her sometime about a few specific events that were crucial to understanding where the galaxy stood.

From what we could glean, it seemed Shepard was the epitome of a Paragon character. She'd saved the colonists on Feros from the Thorian rather than wiping them all out, which likely meant she'd released the rachni queen as well, and had decided to save the Council in the Battle of the Citadel several years ago. That one should have been apparent since she'd mentioned Tevos by name, but overwhelmed by all the possibilities, it skipped my mind until I read about it in a news article published at the time of the attack.

The events of Shepard's cooperation with Cerberus were way harder to come by. Seeing as she had essentially been working as a deep-cover Spectre agent in the Terminus Systems, almost everything she did was classified. We were able to find out a few things by rumor and speculation, the largest being that she'd had an audience with the quarian flotilla and managed to open a line of communication between them and the Alliance, so Tali was probably still a member of the Fleet. Or likely Admiral by now, taking her father's seat on the board. Just from the general way everyone spoke about Shepard and the few bits of important news we could find, it was safe to say that she'd done everything a pure light-side player would have done. All possible crew members saved, the Collector Base destroyed, the genophage data saved, so on and so forth. Working with that assumption, we had a fairly more concrete timeline to map out.

We started by going over the events of the game as they were supposed to happen chronologically had we not interfered: the mission to Palaven, Sur'Kesh, Tuchanka. Then the Cerberus assault on the Citadel, the quarian/geth conflict, Thessia, the Illusive Man's base, and finally, earth.

The krogan/turian/salarian situation was surely the least of our worries. We could inform Shepard about Mordin assisting Wrex with the genophage cure without much repercussion, although we would definitely want to stay out of the picture on that one. Wrex and the rest of the krogan would be in an uproar if two strange humans began helping them for no reason, and even more trouble would follow if we told them everything we knew about their infrastructure and how Wrex was planning to cure his people. All we could do in that situation was warn Shepard about Cerberus' interference and reveal the Shroud as the quickest way to disperse the cure once Mordin developed it. Unfortunately the game didn't go into detail about the chemistry behind the genophage or its cure, so it wasn't like we could help develop it faster.

As for the Cerberus attack on the Citadel, all we could do was warn the Council to be on high alert and have C-Sec vet humans in positions of influence or power that potential sleeper agents would want to be in. It'd be a huge undertaking and increase suspicion against humanity, but if they wanted the station to be safe, it would have to happen.

The geth/quarian conflict was a bit more of a problem. If I remembered the timeline correctly, I knew they weren't at war yet, but it was soon to happen. We could attempt to persuade the quarians not to attack the geth and instead set up a meeting between them, which could potentially avert the war altogether, but it seemed like a pipe dream. It'd be awesome, because that would completely eliminate the need for Legion's death among hundreds of other geth and quarians, but unlikely. In more practical terms, we could warn Shepard about the Reaper Destroyer on Rannoch so the war could be considerably easier to manage. That one sounded a lot more feasible.

Then there was Thessia. Honestly, we'd eliminated the need to go there by revealing the secret of the beacon. They'd still need help with the war, of course, but the same could be said of every planet under Reaper attack.

Horizon. We could tell Shepard about the indoctrination going on there and shut it down early. It'd deal a blow to Cerberus and via proxy, the Reapers. And speaking of Cerberus, we needed to confront the Illusive Man. The sooner we took him out, the less trouble we would have along the way.

Of course, all of this would be rendered useless if we somehow managed to finish the Crucible early and deploy it. But considering how much trouble Shepard has in the game getting the resources needed to build the damn thing, that didn't seem likely.

And damn. I hadn't even gotten around to the myriad of side missions in the game. Each was equally as important as anything else in their own ways, and I was stuck trying to figure out the best order in which to do everything. Obviously we had to go to Palaven first to work on the turians and krogan, seeing as that was a Cerberus-free mission and necessary to gain turian support. From there it would probably make sense to take down Harmony and the Illusive Man's base, and then we could deal with the quarians and geth. But then, the more time we wasted on one mission, the worse things got elsewhere in the galaxy. Time was not on our side.

We must have spent over an hour talking, throwing out ideas, and then cursing ourselves for coming up with a load of nonsense and impossible ideas. This could never work. There was no way to make any significant changes or expedite the process of winning the war. The best we could do was make things easier on Shepard. Hopefully.

Once we'd damn near exhausted ourselves by this maddening endeavor, the door at the opposite end of the room slid open with a hiss. Troy and I snapped to attention, leaping to our feet to conceal the fact that we had, only moments earlier, been reclining lazily and quite pitifully on the plush couches across from the Councilor's desk. People laugh at this, but critical thought is draining. The brain is the most important muscle of the human anatomy, and using it—just like any other—fatigues you immensely. Why do you think it's so difficult to write?

Luckily Shepard was first to enter the room and even if she did see a bit of informality, by that point I was sure she wouldn't have cared. Councilor Tevos followed soon after, dressed in a long form-fitting blue dress that accented her skin color perfectly. What the hell was it with asari, tight clothes, and the color blue? In any event, she looked elegant as all hell, and coming from me that means something. I'm not the kind of guy to usually notice the refined side of life.

The two of them stopped just in front of Anderson's desk, turned to face us. By the curiosity in her eyes and the relaxation of her body language, I didn't think Tevos had been let in on the good news yet. Great. Not only would we have to convince her of our honesty, we'd have to tell her we were the ones who had uncovered her government's biggest secret. That was sure to go over well.

"Councilor," Shepard enunciated. "This is Troy and Donovan, the ones I told you about."

I wasn't sure if it was appropriate for to shake the Councilor's hand or not, so I decided that unless she initiated the exchange, I wasn't going to make a fool of myself. Handshakes might mean something totally different to another culture, after all. It could be the equivalent of flipping the person off, and that was not a risk I was going to take with the asari Councilor.

"I see," Tevos said. Her voice was steady and resolute; if there was any doubt as to why she was attending this meeting, it didn't show. "So you are the humans who uncovered knowledge of the beacon on Thessia."

I swear I felt my face twitch. Shepard had told her everything and she still walked into this room completely unfazed by it? Christ, we were in trouble. Holding secret truths and using the surprise of their knowledge was our best weapon, and Tevos had just rendered it completely useless. Fucking politicians. We could probably tell her that a Reaper was going to be destroyed on Tuchanka by a massive Thresher Maw and she wouldn't even bat an eye.

So with our leverage pretty much completely inert at this point, why was she even here? I mean, there had to be some significance to the revelation that two humans knew about the beacon, otherwise Tevos wouldn't have come. But asari always had a reason for every action and contingencies should their maneuverings fall by the wayside. The concern was what she wanted from us, as she knew we had planned on stunning her into manipulation to find the Catalyst.

Not my best moment, using the words 'manipulate' and 'asari Councilor' in the same thought, but life demands what it will of you.

"That'd be us," I said. "I'm sure you'd like to know exactly how we managed to do so, but that would be a long and boring conversation. Why don't we talk about what that beacon pointed us toward, instead?"

"Indeed," Tevos said, pacing toward the window behind Anderson's desk. "Commander Shepard informed me of your findings with the beacon. I must say I am impressed. It has taken our wisest matriarchs centuries just to glean what little we have learned. As there are very few relics of the prothean language, it has been difficult to translate even the simplest of ideas."

"That's because the protheans communicated a lot just by touch," Troy said. "I'm blanking on what the technical term is, but they had the ability to communicate thoughts, ideas, even memories simply by touch. Somewhat similar to the asari mind meld, but less involved. Barely took a second for them to transfer complex ideas from one individual to another. Eventually they learned to harness their abilities to interface with technology, which explains the beacons. Any non-prothean who hasn't received the Cipher would barely be able to understand it—hell, they'd be lucky not to be killed by the overload to their brain."

Tevos's head raised slightly as if to say, "Ah, no wonder." In an ideal world she would realize that the possibilities of everything we had to offer far outweighed the consequences of trusting us if we were working for Cerberus or the Reapers. However real life is far from utopia, even if we were living in a future where interstellar travel had become an everyday occurrence.

"And this weapon the Alliance found in the Archives on Mars," Tevos mused, "the protheans believed it was capable of stopping the Reapers when joined to the Catalyst mentioned in the beacon." In all honesty I had expected a question, but the Councilor stated it as simple fact. She believed it, or at least she was entertaining it as a possibility. Politicians have to consider every angle, I suppose.

I also wanted to tell her that it wasn't even a matter of belief—the weapon did work, Troy and I had seen it firsthand—but according to the personas we'd established, all we had was the protheans' word.

"They did," I replied with a nod. "All the evidence seems to support it, and if we can find the Catalyst I'm sure it'll tell us the same thing."

"You understand my hesitation in this matter, I'm sure. Now that the Reapers are here we can hardly ignore anything that might aid us, but they are an enemy unlike any we have ever known. Not only do they outnumber and outgun us, they have it within their ability to turn us against each other. After seeing what Sovereign did to Saren, suspicion is at the forefront of the Council's thoughts. It is overwhelming to think of all the individuals we may not be able to fully trust anymore."

 _Or trust at all_ , I thought, finishing what Tevos undoubtedly meant to say. She brought up a good point, though. How did we know she wasn't indoctrinated? It would make sense, given the Council's complete disregard for everything Shepard had uncovered in the last few years. Here they were determining whether or not to trust us when we should have had the same suspicions about them. Hell, what about the Indoctrination Theory? Shepard could be an unwitting agent of the Reapers for all we knew!

I dismissed the thought easily. This wasn't our world anymore, it was the world of Mass Effect and as unhappy as fans had been about the ending, that's the way it was. We could trust Shepard, end of story. The Council, on the other hand…

No, I couldn't go down that line of thought either without something to back it up. Trial and error had to be our foundation for determining the do's and don'ts. If we were met with resistance we'd know something was wrong, but so far Tevos had shown nothing but acceptance and a willingness to listen. That was a miracle in and of itself.

"We understand perfectly," Troy said, answering while I was lost in my mind again. "We know how this all has to look, but the Reapers are here and they aren't going to give us time while we sit around and interrogate each other to find out who we can trust. Right now we need to look at who's trying their hardest to stop the Reapers and go with the options that present themselves. We'll learn who to put our faith in from there."

A damn good line of reasoning if I had ever heard one. _Fuck the wait-and-see approach, let's do some shit and work everything else out as we go. Hell, we're practically living in a revitalized Wild West era. If someone screws us over Shepard can just shoot 'em in the face and keep going._

It wasn't as simple as all that, of course, and I knew it, but I was getting tired of playing the indecisive bullshit game despite only having been part of it for about five hours. When you're not used to finessing people into action it gets old quick. Little did I know, I was about to learn that everything gets irritating when you're at war.

A slight tremor shook through my bones for an instant, and had I not seen the others flinch at the same movement I would've assumed it was just my body's reaction to being in such a tense state. Shepard and Tevos both looked puzzled, as if something monumental and unexpected had just happened and they were caught like a deer in the headlights.

"What was that?" I asked.

At the same moment Shepard got a ping on her omni-tool. She raised her arm, pressed the flashing holographic light, and disappeared into her conversation with whoever had called her. The rest of us waited in silence, Troy and I with absolutely no clue why a sense of urgency seemed to pollute the room and Tevos with mild surprise playing behind her eyes.

Was something wrong? Were we in danger? Why in the hell did it seem like some crazy shit was about to go down when we still had convincing to do and a Catalyst to find? For the love of God, couldn't the universe just cut us some slack once in a while?!

Finally Shepard faced Troy and I, giving us a solemn look, and uttered, "Let's go."

Nope, no slack whatsoever. Thanks, universe. If karma can affect a soulless object, I hope it bites you in the ass one day.

"Go where?" I knew I wasn't going to get a reply, but it was more logical than asking what the fuck was going on and why the fuck we even had to go anywhere.

Shepard snatched her pistol quickly with one hand and opened her omni-tool with the other, scanning through it for something unbeknownst to me. Tevos activated her own, presumably to feel like part of the loop, and her brows cringed at the result.

"I can't get through to anyone," the councilor said. "Commander, what is the happening?"

As if in reply, Shepard dug around in one of the small pouches on her waist and brought out two flat disks, then threw them to Troy and I. "Noticed you didn't have any shield emitters," she explained. "Put these on. They're not top-of-the-line, but they'll protect you from a shot or two."

Troy and I exchanged worried glances while fastening the devices to the belt loops on our jeans. Getting prepared for a firefight could only mean one thing.

"Cerberus, or the Reapers?" I asked.

Shepard gave me a solemn look, the first real expression of dread I'd seen her display so far. "Both."

I had to squint, as if looking at her more closely would change what I'd heard. Reapers and Cerberus? At the same time? So fucking early?! It didn't make sense! Perhaps the Illusive Man had decided that striking with some modicum of surprise would be his greatest advantage seeing as the AI was unable to transmit the data from Mars, but there was no reason for the Reapers to join them. For all intents and purposes, the Citadel practically was a Reaper. Or at least, inhabited and controlled by the same artificial being that commanded them.

"Both?" I asked, just to make sure. No reply. "That doesn't make sense, I…"

Honestly, I didn't know what to think. Not only was something happening that caught me completely off-guard, I had no idea how in the hell we were supposed to deal with it. All our planning had assumed that everything would happen as the game described it, and I suppose that brought a sense of security to a terrifying situation. Now that the unexpected had become reality, that security vanished and was replaced by a new kind of fear; the kind that comes from being in serious peril with no escape plan.

"This isn't the time," Shepard said, strutting to the door confidently. She turned briefly to address Troy and I. "The station's under attack. Right now our priority is getting the Council to safety, which means making it back to Normandy in one piece."

"But Commander," Tevos interrupted, even though Shepard's attention was now on covering the door. "What of the others? Sparatus and Valern? If they don't make it through this assault the political climate will be rendered useless. There will be even more resistance attempting to coordinate any effective military strategy against the Reapers."

"I'm sure that's what they're counting on," Shepard said, fiddling with her omni-tool. "I'm patching you all in to the Normandy's comm channel. The rest of my team is working on securing the other Councilors."

"Wait, we aren't gonna try to save the station?" Troy asked. I was thinking the same thing, seeing as Shepard repels the Cerberus invasion quite easily, but with the Reapers banging down the door as well…

"There are six capital ships closing in on us as we speak," Shepard said. "Even with C-Sec and the turian defense forces, the Citadel is already lost."

I can't even begin to describe how overwhelmed I was in that moment. Not only did I have no clue what the fuck was happening or why, we were essentially abandoning the Citadel to the Reapers, along with the millions of people trapped on board. Courtesy of the Reaper IFF Shepard had picked up in her hunt for the Collectors the Normandy was safe, but any other vessel attempting to escape would likely be destroyed without a second thought. Even if we attempted to evacuate the station, the Normandy was one ship that could fit maybe a couple hundred people if they all crammed every inch of space available.

It was unbelievable. My better half screamed inside my head and my chest caved in as if all the life was being sucked out of it. We'd just taken a shot to the spine that would leave us paralyzed no matter what the outcome. Everyone aboard was going to die, and we'd lose the Catalyst before we even began building the Crucible, effectively rendering that entire plan inert. The sudden thought that Troy and I had completely doomed this cycle to extinction raced through my mind a million times like a song stuck on repeat. This would never have happened if we hadn't been there.

As much as I know you all love seeing me wallow in self-pity, the Reapers weren't going to allow me much time to think about my fears and failures. A voice came in on the comm, which seeing as I now had a microscopic implant in my ear linked to my omni-tool, I was able to hear as if he were in the room with me.

"Commander, it's Kaidan." In addition to his voice I could hear the sounds of mass effect-propelled slugs being fired and the occasional explosion. "We've got Valern, but there are more problems than solutions at the moment. Sparatus was headed your way last time anyone saw him and we're pinned down by a few dozen of those batarian things. We're gonna have a hard enough time just getting back to the Normandy."

"Copy, what about Cerberus?" Shepard quickly asked. While this was a dire moment, she'd seen dozens of similar ones and was focused on nothing but the task ahead of her.

"Sounds like they got here just before the Reapers did," Kaidan replied. "Took them by just as much surprise. It's chaos out here, Shepard, so watch your back."

"You too Kaidan."

Then it was all business. Shepard hit the door panel before I even had time to process what had happened, and we were all alerted to the fact that the fight wasn't isolated to wherever Kaidan and the others were. I could hear screams, gunshots, the scuffling of soldiers—whether enemy or ally, I wasn't sure—and it brought Vancouver to the forefront of my mind. A sense of nauseating dread filled my gut at the thought of us four actually going out into all that madness.

"Stay close to me," Shepard addressed the group at large. "You see anything that looks hostile, find cover and stay down. Especially you, Councilor."

We all nodded, taking one last breath in this room of relative comfort and safety before tentatively following Shepard into the hallway. Even from there we could see Reaper drones—Cannibals and Marauders—taking aim at the civilians and presumably C-Sec officers in the lobby ahead. As horrible as the din of war was, my mind had numbed in response to the emotions threatening to paralyze me. All I felt was the distant beating of my heart and the wall formed in the back of my head to keep anxiety and fear out. Enduring mental illness does tend to make you a bit stronger in that regard.

Shepard advanced, motioning for Tevos to stay back. I suppose Troy and I weren't quite as important. As we reached the top of the staircase it became clear that C-Sec was losing the fight; bodies littered the ground, both Reaper drones and sentient individuals, but much fewer drones. Everyone was still getting used to fighting Reapers.

Following our fearless leader, we began descending the staircase. Despite wanting to stay out of all the action I found myself thinking I'd feel much more comfortable holding a gun. The thought was only increased when the first drone took notice of us and Shepard summarily put two rounds in its head.

The sudden death of one of their comrades alerted the rest of the squad in the lobby that they faced a new threat, so propelled by a surge of adrenaline we all flew down the staircase and darted for the nearest cover: a lengthy reception desk that ran along the adjacent wall. With my back to the protection I could feel the other side being riddled with bullets. Two of the Reapers' main targets were in this room, and they weren't going to let them slip away easily.

Shepard popped up from cover momentarily, squeezing off a few shots, before ducking back down to let her shields recharge. I hadn't taken a proper count of our enemies in all the chaos, but I knew there were at least a dozen out there. Even with all her badass-ery, Shep couldn't take them all alone. What video games fail to mention is that if one person is up against multiple individuals in a firefight, it's damn near impossible to win, especially with such limited positions of safety. See, twelve soldiers (by my count, anyway) could easily lay down a field of fire on the entire length of our protection that would allow for a few seconds of exposure at best; any more and the exposed party would be dead within seconds, having been riddled by the bullets of a dozen different enemies. But, with even one ally, it becomes uncertain to the enemy who will take the risk or when, and that can be used to great advantage. Any two well-trained warriors could withstand an onslaught the size of the Persian Army if they knew strategy and tactics well enough.

Unfortunately I didn't have much grasp of either, aside from what I'd seen in movies and games, but the fact that there was an abundance of weaponry littering the ground around us gnawed at my better judgment. It was almost like God was telling me to pick up a gun and shoot, even if I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Yes, I'd probably get shot, and yes, I would probably die because I had only a vague idea of how to actually productively fight from my tussle in Vancouver, but so what? I had shields, and I had the biggest badass in the galaxy at my side. What could go wrong?

I scrambled out of cover for the briefest of moments, grabbing the Avenger rifle while bullets scarred the floor all around me, and fell backwards into the safe zone. I checked the sights to make sure they weren't fucked up and proceeded to check the mag to make sure it was full, only then realizing we weren't using magazines anymore. _Future, Donovan, we're in the future._

"The hell are you doing?" Troy yelled, barely audible over the gunshots and guttural screams of the Reapers drones.

"Plan D," I replied.

"And what the fuck is Plan D?"

I couldn't suppress a smirk from making its way to my face. "Fuck it."

Timing myself with Shepard's movements, I stood when she ducked, found the nearest drone, and squeezed the trigger until I thought my arm was going to shatter. Troy hadn't been lying when he said the thing kicked like a mule. God, the bruises. I knew I was going to regret this.

And sooner rather than later, as fate would have it. I felt the strangest sensation, almost like being punched without the pain it usually entails, and it took a moment to register the fact that I had just been shot. Not myself, naturally, otherwise I'm sure this story would come to a rather unspectacular ending. Rather the shields Shepard had given me absorbed the blow; the resulting tremor I'd felt had merely been the kinetic barriers warning me to get the hell down or risk getting blood all over this new shirt. I laid off the trigger and bent back down, collapsing on my ass to get a second's reprieve.

"Satisfied?" Troy asked, anger and disbelief playing in his voice.

"Nah, I don't think I actually hit anything."

"Yeah no shit, I told you that gun's a piece of crap."

I allowed myself a laugh. For some reason, the worse things get around me the more I seem to ease up. I was terrified as all hell at that moment, but there was a sense of freedom in the 'fuck it' mentality. Not to mention it had worked well for me before, so there was no reason to bet against it. At least this time I wasn't being held together by medi-gel. The odds seemed like they were in my favor.

"That was a dumb idea," Shepard yelled through gritted teeth as she stooped down to our level again. "Now head over to the far end of this desk, we've almost got these bastards."

I complied immediately, passing the group before realizing I had to ask something. "Hey, did I actually manage to hit one?"

From the distance between us and the jarringly chaotic movement all around us I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw a smirk cross Shepard's face. "You put three of them on the floor."

Fuck yes! I truly hadn't expected to have even got a real shot off, but three on the floor? That was fucking incredible! They may still be alive, of course, but that was something I was willing to remedy quite easily as soon as we took down the rest. Eat shit and die, Reapers!

I reached the end of our cover position and looked back to Shepard, waiting for her go. She signaled me with a nod and I was up, reverberating with the impact of the rifle, pointing it at whatever abominations I could find for several glorious seconds. As we'd hoped, they hadn't expected me to start shooting from a different vantage point and as such I had a good window of opportunity before their attention and bullets turned to me.

When I went back down I saw Shepard was already up and firing and heard bullets being absorbed by kinetic barriers. She was intent on taking the Marauders down. If that was the case, we'd likely already cleared out the Cannibals—after all, any decent war gamer knows you take out the easiest enemies first before moving on to the tougher ones. I wasn't sure how many Marauders were out there, but it could safely be assumed we were close to clearing the room.

So, with that in mind, I stood and leveled my gun across the reception desk to stabilize it and let loose on the trigger. In between the flashes of light accompanying my gunshots I could see we'd thinned the room down to about three fucked-up turians. Our crossfire had one falling before the other two could pick a target, and seeing as it was me, I backed off and let Shepard have at it.

I'm not sure how many of you have ever fired a gun before, but for those of you who haven't, let me just tell you that depending on what caliber of gun you're shooting, they can be extremely loud. In movies people are always just blasting away and having conversations shortly after, but that's not how it works in real life. Anything above a .22 caliber will leave you momentarily deaf if you're not wearing ear protection, and if the gun in question is an automatic, you basically have to resign yourself to not being able to hear a goddamn thing for quite a while. Eventually the shots themselves start to dull down.

So you can imagine my surprise when I heard a massive detonation that I was sure shattered my eardrums and any glass in the area purely with the force of sound. I spun left and right, sure that we were about to be doomed to being crushed by a Reaper capital ship, only to find Troy leaning over the desk with a long rifle in his hands. He quickly ducked back down to safety, displaying the fact that the gun he held was a sniper rifle, complete with scope and long twin barrels.

"Where the hell'd you find a sniper rifle in all this shit?" I screamed, sure that no one would be able to hear me after that shot.

"Dude, there are bodies everywhere!" he screamed back. "At least someone was smart enough to carry one around with him."

Well, okay then. If life hands you a sniper rifle, blow some fucker's head off with it. "Did you get anyone?"

Troy peeked up over the top of the desk. "Uuuuhhhh…"

I leaned up momentarily to find what he was looking at and saw a massive splatter of violet blood against the far wall. Perhaps a few chunks of brain as well, I wasn't sure how similar turian anatomy was to our own.

"Yep, you definitely got him."

A moment later the shooting stopped, the room settling into an almost surreal silence. Shepard lowered her pistol, satisfied that the battle was won for now, and the rest of us stood to take stock on our surroundings. Based on what I could see from our position, there must have been thirty or so corpses in the room, not counting the Reaper drones we'd put down. There were maybe ten or fifteen of them. If the rest of the station was like this, there was already a shitload of casualties.

"Come on," Shepard said, jogging towards the elevator. "We've got to get to Sparatus before the Reapers do."

Urgency pushing us forward more than rational thought, Troy and I brought up the rear as Tevos followed Shepard into the elevator. Moments later we were being rushed in every direction imaginable, on our way to yet another warzone no doubt rife with Reapers and Cerberus troops.

"Kaidan," Shepard called, opening a channel via omni-tool. "We're in the elevator headed for Sparatus. Where are you?"

"Making our way there now, Commander," Kaidan replied. The gunshots and screams still rang in the background. They must have been in a more heavily occupied area than we were. "What's left of the C-Sec forces in the area are covering our retreat, but we're running into resistance at every turn. We have to get the hell outta here before we get trapped inside."

"Copy that. We'll find Sparatus and hold down the fort at the elevator, then make our escape to the Normandy from there once you join us."

"Uh, yeah, Commander?" Joker's voice interrupted. "There might be a problem with that. Husks are swarming the docking area. Dunno if the IFF prevents them from seeing us or what; they're leaving us alone, but you're gonna have a big-ass crowd to wade through once you get here."

"We'll take care of it when we get there Joker. Just be ready for emergency FTL as soon as we do."

"Roger that. Joker out."

I wanted to add something useful to the conversation. I wanted to be able to draw upon my vast knowledge of Mass Effect and tell Shepard where every bad guy would be and the best strategy for killing them. If that encounter had been true to the game and it was only Cerberus attacking, I probably could've. However, as it was, I didn't know what the fuck was going on. All I could do was look at Troy and wonder how it had even happened. Did the Reapers somehow know about us and what we'd told Shepard, or was this simply an alternate version of the game in which the attack on the Citadel came right after invading earth? And then there was Cerberus; had the Illusive Man just decided to strike now while he had the element of surprise? It was just as likely that the Reapers had planted the suggestion in his mind and he put it to motion. No matter how many theories I came up with the answers remained unclear.

In the end it mattered very little, because after a short period of calm in the midst of a hurricane the elevator slowed to a stop and ejected us into the midst of more chaos. We ran out of the el at a full sprint, spewing our guns at any target that looked grisly enough to be a Reaper drone, and met up with a small force of C-Sec officers taking refuge in what appeared to be a number of storefronts along a wall opposite the Reapers. We managed to vault through a blown-out window and despite C-Sec's initial worry, when they saw us they laid down cover fire so we could get to safety.

"Commander Shepard!" one of the officers yelled, a turian with dark skin and purple accents across his mandibles. "Thank the spirits! We've been holding out here since the initial attack!"

"Do you have the Councilor secure?" Shepard asked.

"Yes, he's safe in the back room." The turian nodded in that direction where a doorway branched off further back into the room. "Councilor Tevos, I suggest you make your way there as well."

Tevos needed no further encouragement, trailing off at the behest of another officer who escorted her to better protection.

"What's the situation?" Shepard asked, attempting to get a handle on what we were about to go up against.

The turian replied, but I had lost interest in the conversation as soon as he'd said Sparatus was safe. My primary focus had shifted toward our surroundings and our chances of defeating the drones in the immediate vicinity.

The area was considerably larger than the reception area back in the embassy, but also much more open. At least twenty meters of no man's land separated us from the drones at the other end of the room, where they too were holed up in various storefronts with plenty of cover. The main difference between our positions was that on the Reapers' side of the battlefield, just to the left was a corridor that presumably led to another area of the station. And from that corridor, Husks, Cannibals, and Marauders continued to spew forth onto the battlefield. C-Sec had done a good job holding the line, but we weren't going to clear this area as easily as we had the previous one, if at all.

Troy was already well underway taking potshots with his newfound sniper rifle, muttering curses whenever he missed. At least half a dozen C-Sec officers were scattered around the building we took refuge in, and if there were as many in the others adjacent to us, we likely had a good twenty or thirty guys on our side. Hopefully it would be enough to hold out until Kaidan and the others could arrive with Valern.

I ducked into cover for a few seconds to take a bit of heat off me, then took my rifle and leaned up over the small counter I was using for protection. The Husks were the easiest and most available targets, seeing as they were crossing the open battlefield in an attempt to reach us, so I fired away at the perversions of humanity in an attempt to allow the more seasoned soldiers to focus on the threats across the room. The detonations from Troy's rifle were still piercing the madness of the firefight, but since he was a decent distance away it wasn't as deafening as it had been earlier.

It amazed me how relentless the Reapers were. Of course, killing Shepard and the Councilors was undoubtedly their foremost objective, but they were throwing away dozens if not hundreds of ground troops in this assault. Surely it would be more beneficial to simply turn off life support to the station or vent us all into space. Instead the drones continued pouring out of the corridor on the far end of the room, and we did our best to halt the tide while dodging bullets and the occasional concussion blast.

If only we had a few grenades, or some C4 to blow up that access corridor. But then Kaidan and the others would probably be trapped as well.

The battle raged for quite some time, although I lost track of it entirely after just a few minutes of pointing and shooting. My main targets had remained the Husks trying to edge their way across the warzone, and I'd done a pretty damn good job of keeping them at bay. Only twice did they reach us, and between the six guns in the room, they were easily taken care of. In fact I think my kill count had begun to grow so steadily that the Husks began focusing solely on me, allowing the rest of our allies to deal with the Cannibals and Marauders across the room. Surprisingly enough I was shooting pretty accurately despite the bruising of my shoulder every time the rifle fired, and apparently Troy was as well. After about a minute or two of constant cursing indicating his misses, he had grown steadily quieter. Hopefully that meant he was kicking the shit out of our enemies.

I had no idea where Shepard was. After a short talk with the turian officer she'd darted out the window in a storm of bullets and ran off toward one of the other shops C-Sec had set up in. Either she felt comfortable that we had the situation under control here, or she had more pressing concerns to attend to. Or she thought we were hopelessly doomed and decided to save herself, but I put that thought out of my head. Not only was it unrealistic, it was depressing just to think about.

The Husks were none too hard to put down, seeing as a good shot to the chest or head would take one out of the fight. My only problem was having to take cover every so often to avoid fire from the Cannibals and Marauders. Generally with me and a couple other guys in the adjacent stores taking the Husks and the rest of our allies fighting the shooters, I wasn't in anyone's sights very often. But in the event that I was, I just managed to reach safety before my shields hit their limit and fell apart. After some time of ignorance I noticed that my omni-tool actually had a full read-out of my kinetic barrier strength, so I checked it periodically just to make sure I was protected. In that frenzy it was easy to ignore a shot or two to the shields, and more than once I was caught off-guard when my shields suddenly dropped. Luckily I had twenty or thirty other guys there covering my stupid ass.

Finally, after what seemed like an endlessly long yet somehow extremely brief period of time gunning down Husks and the occasional Cannibal, we began to see gunshots filling the Reapers' access hallway and several of them walked out with their backs to us, shooting in the opposite direction. As soon as I saw bodies being hurled into the air and Husks exploding in a red haze of carnage I knew it was Normandy's stray crew coming to join the fight. We all pushed ourselves a little harder, took aim a little faster; the realization that we had just hit the home stretch wore off any fatigue that had accumulated in the battle, giving us a renewed invigoration. If we could just hold out a little longer, the end was in sight.

Kaidan emerged from the hallway, firing his pistol in one hand while blasting drones away with his biotics, followed swiftly by the almost supernatural blasts coming from Liara and the craze of detonations from Vega. Half a dozen C-Sec troops brought up the rear, with Valern at the center of their formation to keep him safe.

As if out of nowhere, Shepard darted across the battlefield, plowing right through the troops that had spilled out into no man's land. She was making a beeline for the group, no doubt to secure Valern and get him to the elevator before the Reapers had a chance to take him out.

"Come on!" I yelled at Troy, motioning him to the back of the store.

As I'd expected, Tevos and Sparatus were still safe in the back room guarded by two C-Sec officers, one of them being the turian Shepard had talked to earlier.

"We're ready to move," I shouted, hoping he could hear me through the chaos that had become the battlefield.

"Right," he replied. Then, with a hand to his ear and his eyes looking over my shoulder at the Reapers, he said, "all units fall back to the elevator. Valern is in sight, I repeat, Valern is in sight. We're getting the Council to Normandy, everyone on alert!"

No sooner had he ushered the Councilors to his feet and began leading them out of the store did the rest of C-Sec make their way to us. As one unit of about twenty people we stormed our way to the elevator, firing blind shots at the Reapers just hoping some of them would hit their mark. As I ran I could hear the impacts of bullets as they struck the men beside me and even felt a few tremors in my shields, but I zoned it all out and kept my mind focused on one thing: making it to that elevator.

The guy in front of me fell to the floor after a shot pierced his helmet and I nearly ran full-force into him. As I stumbled my way around the corpse my head turned just enough to let me catch a glimpse of the Marauder who had shot him. It was one of the most disturbing sights I ever saw. It looked straight at me with its face twisted in an almost hateful scowl, as if it had intended to hit me and missed its mark. I shook it off by spraying a few rounds at its face and resumed my sprint, ever onward.

Shepard was at the elevator waiting for us, holding down the fort with Kaidan and the others while the Councilors hurried their way inside. Taking a few last shots at the Reapers, I was about to rush in there myself when something collided with my backside so hard I flew face-first into the wall, collapsing to the floor in a heap.

My head throbbed. My shields were down, I was sure of it, and had it not been for the C-Sec guys covering me I probably would've been shot and killed. As it was, all I could see was glimpses of the battlefield between the feet that stood in front of me for protection, and the monstrosity that had pelted me with such force.

"Banshee!" I yelled, as if screaming this revelation would lessen the world of shit we were now in.

Everyone darted for cover and I sprung to my feet, finding the black rifle I'd grown so used to, but it was little use. While the perversion of asari flesh moved relatively slowly, its biotic abilities easily made it the most dangerous target we'd faced yet. Biotic explosions went off around the room like a succession of fireworks, with bodies flailing in every direction and people yelling their frustration with more force than the sound of gunshots going off. I leveled my gun and fired away, but to no avail. The Banshee's barriers were too damn strong.

"Come on, get in!" Shepard yelled, dragging me by the arm with such strength I was sure she was going to yank it off.

"No!" I protested, attempting to fight my way free of her. "Those guys are all dead if we don't stay here and—!"

The back of my skull vibrated with the impact of blunt force trauma, and for a second I was sure Shepard had shot me just for being so resistant. A stupid notion, but when you're passing out you think all kinds of dumb things.

That's exactly what I did. As my vision started to blur I could see the doors of the elevator closing, stranding all the soldiers out there to take on the Reapers by themselves. We'd just resigned them to death.

And then the world turned black.

* * *

When I came to I was in Normandy's medbay yet again, Doctor Chakwas standing over me with a light while Shepard, Troy, Liara, and Daniels all waited patiently in the corner of the room to hear what the verdict was. Nothing major, just a concussion and a fracture that had been easily remedied with medi-gel. Shepard packed one hell of a punch.

I was relieved to hear that we'd made it back to the Normandy in one piece, including the Council and a couple C-Sec troops that had managed to squeeze into the elevator with us. They'd told me that after that fight in the Wards, the Husks waiting for them in the docking bay were hardly any trouble even with Vega carrying me over his shoulder. That explained the bruising along my ribcage.

Apparently we hadn't seen Cerberus during the attack because they didn't make it very far. Whether they'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time or the Reapers had lured them there to wipe them out, that was anyone's guess. All we knew was that they'd kicked the door down for the Reapers, and the drones took just about all of them out before they could even think about retreating.

I gulped it all down with a mild satisfaction until they broke the news. The Citadel had been destroyed by the Reapers. Not just taken over, not just cleared of all organics. They'd blown the damn thing to a million pieces trying to stop Shepard and the Council from getting away. I couldn't believe it. I actually didn't at first until they showed me a real-time feed of the debris field left in its wake.

The Citadel was gone. The Catalyst was gone. The Crucible was completely useless. As shocked as I was at this revelation, I had already begun considering why the Reapers would do such a thing but the options were endless, and the answer was clear.

This wasn't the reality I thought it was.

Something had happened to change events, or maybe BioWare had just gotten it all wrong, but something was different about this reality. I went on a rant about how none of it made any sense and it shouldn't have been possible, but in the end it all amounted to nothing because it had happened. That was the plain and simple truth. The Citadel was gone. Some hundreds of millions of lives lost. And any hope of using the Crucible to defeat the Reapers was destroyed.

We were fucked. That's the only way to describe it. For once all the strategies and possibilities and questions faded from my mind, replaced by the constricting knowledge that we were all going to die. I had thought that Troy and I held the key to saving this galaxy from massive amounts of devastation, but all the things we knew about Mass Effect amounted to absolutely nothing now that the Citadel was gone.

 _Look around and witness the weight of this darkness. I can assure you that ignorance is not bliss._

I don't know why the lyric ran through my head. The song was about learning to see how inhuman society had become and what we had to do to overcome it, not how to deal with loss and the knowledge that you, along with trillions of others, are doomed to death. Maybe the Reapers needed to be shown what monsters they were.

After getting the all-clear from the doc, I left the medbay followed by the quartet who'd come to check up on me. Shepard mentioned something about someone wanting to talk to us over the FTL communicators, but at that point I didn't really care. I followed her and Troy if for no other reason than because I needed something to take my mind off all the darkness crowding it at the moment.

We reached the comm room after a few silent minutes of traversing the Normandy, and Shepard had EDI patch her through to Admiral Hackett. Of course, he'd want to know what the hell had happened and who we were, courtesy of everything Shepard had no doubt told him. Hopefully Troy was up for talking, because I sure as hell wasn't.

Hackett came through the quantum entanglement processors soon enough, a distorted blue form probably four inches my better in regards to height. With the white goatee, broken nose, and the scar across his face he was hard to mistake.

"Shepard," Hackett said, barely able to put into words what he was thinking. "We just heard about the Citadel. Everyone get out all right?"

"We did, sir," Shepard replied. If she felt any regret for leaving those troops behind, she knew how to mask it. "All crew members and the Council are safely aboard, plus a few C-Sec officers that helped us escape."

"That's good news," Hackett said, though his voice conveyed the fact that he was hardly jumping for joy. "And the other two you were telling me about? Did they manage to get out with you?"

He was talking about Troy and I naturally, so with a concerned glance at each other we stepped forward to flank Shepard on either side.

"This is them, Admiral."

"I see. Commander Shepard tells me you two know some interesting things. Once things settle down a bit I'd like to talk to you about this war, but right now I have another pressing concern."

"Something more pressing than the Reapers blowing up the damn Citadel?" I blurted out. Got some unfriendly stares from Troy and Shepard, but Hackett seemed to let it roll right off his back.

"Perhaps not, but equally confusing. As you're aware, Councilor Anderson has been leading the fight back on earth, and the troops there came across a rather disoriented individual wearing the same kind of gear you both were wearing when you approached Shepard at Vancouver. Anderson wanted me to see if there was any relation between you."

Someone else from our time period? Great, now there was a third person to fuck things up in this reality. The love just continued to spread itself around.

"Have you identified him?" Troy asked.

"We can't," Hackett answered. "Like you, he doesn't seem to be registered in any system we have access too. Apparently Doctor T'Soni can't even locate him. He says his name is Ashbrook."

Troy and I both gasped and looked at each other. It couldn't possibly be…

"Give me just a minute," Hackett said. "I'm being told they're trying to patch him into this conversation."

My breath caught in anticipation, my heart beating wildly. I wasn't sure if I should be elated or concerned, but in the moment all I could do was hope to God it was who I thought it was.

Then a form began to take shape next to Hackett's, all static at first, but once EDI cleared it up we could make out his features immediately. Even with the dirt, blood, and sweat covering his face, we knew this was our cousin.

"Adison!"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Well, hopefully you all made it through intact! I know the chapters continue to get longer and the story crazier, but hopefully that's a good thing because the trend is only going to continue. I honestly don't have much to say; I'm just waiting in ecstatic anticipation to see the reaction to everything you guys just read. Hopefully it's all positive, and if you enjoy canon getting raped by a much better story, you'll enjoy the future of _Instability._

 **Bob:** Thank you sincerely! It's good to know I'm doing well with the characters, as its super tough to put these complex people to paper in a way that does them justice. As for the story, I'm glad you like it, and hope you continue to do so after this insanity.

 **ShadowAngel23:** Many thanks! Yeah, I've noticed the trend even though I've only been here a short time, and I decided to plop my characters at the beginning of ME3 because in my humble opinion, the story up until that point was fine. The story afterward...not so much. So I'm trying to change it for the better and figured hey, it never hurts to add yourself into the mix!

 **Vulthurin the Shadowed:** Hey! A fellow Shadow! We have to stick together, right? Anyway, my gratitude is yours, sir. I was an English major in college so it stands to reason that my grammar should be pretty damn good. Plus, with Spellcheck, it baffles me how anyone these days can have bad grammar.

 **Alpha Draconis69:** By your order, General, and my thanks to you! I promised weekly updates for some time, and that time hasn't run out just yet. It may soon, but even then I'll still devote a good amount of time to the story. Having you guys' support pushes me further every time I get a fave, follow, or review.

 **spiral83:** Hehe. Hehehehe. So many questions, so many ways to fuck everything up. Which one shall it be? Or all? You've already seen one example, so wait and see what's coming next... MUAHAHAHAHA! Ahem.

So, thanks for reading guys, I really cannot express my appreciation enough for everyone's support and enthusiasm towards this story. Things might slow down a bit here soon (I have posted 35,000-odd words in under three weeks) courtesy of a new job, but fear not! This story will reach its conclusion no matter how many obstacles get in my way. I mean, I already have plans for a sequel. No better motivation to write than having a multitude of ideas rumbling around in your brain.

Well, that's all I've got until next time. Have fun!


	5. Chapter 5

Earth, 2187. There was no way in hell this was all real. Funny how that's the first thought to enter a person's mind when faced with an unbelievable situation. Car accident on the highway? Can't be real. Partner leaves you for someone else? Can't be real. Fucked something up at work and have to put in forty hours of overtime to fix it? Can't be real. Magically teleported from the police station to the middle of an alien-zombie invasion? You better fucking believe it.

It had started as a fairly normal day for Adison Ashbrook. Woke up at noon; showered, shaved, and ate; then headed out for another routine day at the precinct. Nothing unusual, not a single speeder on the roads or even a doped-up junkie to throw in a cell and let sober up. After two hours of patrols Adison had stopped at a gas station to refill his coffee and take a short pee break seeing as crime had taken apparently taken the day off.

That was when hell reared its ugly head. Upon stepping out of the gas station Adison had realized that his squad car was no longer parked two spaces down where he'd left it. His first thought had been that he'd simply parked elsewhere, but police officers are trained not to be so reckless on the job. You remember where you parked your car, where you set your keys when you walk in the station—hell, you remember where you set your coffee cup three days ago. So with that thought out the window, his second had been that someone had stolen the thing. Again, not possible because he'd had the keys with him, and it was damn unlikely that there was anyone in this shithole of a county smart enough to know hotwiring techniques.

It's odd how much you can overthink something without even having all the details. Assumptions begin to form and before you know it you think you've got the full picture when in reality you've just fabricated a myth in your mind based on a few mismatched puzzle pieces.

So when Adison took in his surroundings and realized that they were not the same as they had been five minutes earlier, his mind flipped. The first thing he should have noticed was the sky; it had turned pitch black despite being six o'clock—summer days in Missouri don't get dark until at least eight-thirty—and yet there wasn't a cloud or star in sight. Just darkness. And even more troubling, nothing else existed in the immediate vicinity. No gas pumps, no highway just beyond them, no gas station behind him; it had all been replaced by a seemingly endless strip of neatly trimmed grass.

All manner of causes for this ridiculous situation were dismissed quickly. He wasn't dreaming, he wasn't hallucinating, his brain wasn't malfunctioning on him due to some form of intoxication; these were the first and most probable ideas to cross his mind, but they were all impossible. Sleeping people wake up when they begin questioning their dreams, he was as mentally fit as a person could be, and he never abused his body with alcohol or narcotics. As unreal as this sudden change of scenery had been, it had happened. No other explanation worked.

So when an enormous black metallic hand had begun descending from the sky reigning down terror in the form of laser beams, Adison hadn't questioned whether or not it was real. He hadn't stood there like a drooling idiot just waiting for a giant hand to crush him to death. He'd kicked up his feet and ran like hell, avoiding laser fire and flying mechanical insect-like things that dropped off the most hideous monsters he'd ever seen.

For several hours all he'd done was run and shoot. The magazine in his Beretta had run out after taking down seven or eight of the creatures, so he'd grabbed a gun off one of the corpses and stuck with that. Despite not having a magazine and shooting plasma-looking projectiles, he'd made good use of it, and it served as his first clue as to what the hell was happening.

He was in the future. It was the only thing that made sense. Somehow he had been transported to this dystopic future where he was being forced to fight for survival. Kind of awesome in a way—he'd always wanted to pit himself against an army of hideous motherfuckers and see how long he could last. But if that was the case, he'd realized he would need to link up with whoever else was fighting the monsters.

The next hour or so had been spent taking down hostiles as they entered his field of sight. He'd found what looked like an abandoned barn—or, what he imagined a barn might look like in the future—and after a few minutes of reinforcing the doors and windows, crept up to the loft and started picking off anything that came in range. There had been basically two different kinds of enemies: human-esque creatures with cybernetics of some sort that just stupidly rushed the barn, and a fatter type that looked like it had a corpse for an arm attached to a cannon. The small, stupid ones were easy. One shot, one kill. The fat ones took a little more convincing.

Once the ground outside the barn had become littered with bodies, a series of flying blue bricks had come from somewhere to the east and gunned down the rest of the creatures in the area. Upon realizing that they were aerial transports, Adison had opened the barn for his rescuers and thanked God that they were human. Wearing some sort of advanced ballistic armor that made them look alien, but when they'd removed their helmets a surge of relief had run through him. They'd explained that he was in the middle of a Reaper invasion, whatever that was, and that they needed to get him to a safe zone with the rest of the civilians. Telling them he was law enforcement had done nothing; they'd chocked it up to shock despite the fact that there was a veritable mountain of dead zombies just outside the barn. Because people dealing with shock like to keep calm and double tap.

Whatever the case, the soldiers had loaded him up into one of their shuttles and lifted off, destination unknown. Apparently they were using old-school Morse Code to transmit sensitive data such as safe zones, and seeing as police academy hadn't covered Morse 101, he was out of luck. The soldiers evidently didn't trust anyone but themselves with a location.

Six hours. After six hours he was finally in a relatively safe place, surrounded by relatively friendly people with relatively decent weapons. It was all relative, of course, because when you're in the future you really don't know what the fuck is going on or if your assumptions about something are correct. All Adison knew was what he'd overheard a few of these future soldiers saying about him: that he wasn't the only strange person to mysteriously show up, and that the Councilor wanted to speak with him. Why a counselor wanted to talk to him was well beyond him; unless they were planning to bore those monsters out there to death with psychology, the counselor had better pick up a gun and start mowing the fuckers down.

Turned out his concern was falsely founded. It wasn't a psychiatrist that wanted to talk to him, but a politician or soldier. Or both. The man looked like he'd seen a thousand battles and yet there was a much more important air about him. The other soldiers seemed to emanate respect for the man, but at the same time they were almost twitching in their boots to protect him every time a mortar fell. Whoever the Councilor was, everyone wanted to keep him very much alive.

"What's your name, son?" the man asked, eyeing Adison up and down. No doubt compared to the law enforcement of the future, his cop uniform looked extremely outdated.

"Adison Ashbrook."

The man grunted. "Not a Womble, at least. That would have been too coincidental."

Womble? Did he just say Womble? Were they a big deal in the future, or had someone else in the family been transported here along with him?

"Womble, sir?"

Another grunt. "I thought you might have been with them. They appeared seemingly from nowhere, same as you. What the hell were you doing in that part of Missouri, anyway? You know Sirta owns almost the entire state, right?"

"Even if I did, I wouldn't know who the hell that is," Adison replied. "Sir, whoever you are and whatever's going on here, I just want to know what happened to me. Who are the Wombles you mentioned?"

"You know them?"

"If you'd tell me their names I might, yeah."

The man scowled. He wanted to answer, Adison thought, but some suspicion lurked in the back of his mind. Whatever Wombles he was talking about, they must not have made too good an impression.

"Their names are Troy and Donovan, as I understand it."

Well…that explained a whole lot.

"Troy and Donovan are here?" Adison asked, just to make sure.

"Not anymore," the Councilor replied. "They came to us in Vancouver, back when the invasion first began. One of them was wounded so Commander Shepard took them aboard the Normandy. I thought they were just civilians at first, but now I hear they're telling Shepard they know how we can defeat the Reapers. I take it that rings a bell?"

Commander Shepard, Normandy, Reapers. Where had he heard all that before? And why were Troy and Donovan off getting themselves hurt and flying in spaceships? And why the hell would someone leave during the middle of an invasion?

Shepard…he knew that name. And he knew Donovan and Troy knew it too. Was it…?

No! No fucking way were they stuck in a damn video game! And one that Adison hadn't played for more than a few hours, at that. Drop him off in the middle of Grand Theft Auto or Skyrim or Borderlands, something he was familiar with—not a fucking space adventure that he barely even knew!

"Son?" the Councilor asked, attempting to ease Adison out of his bewildered state. "Do you know them?"

Troy and Donovan. At least they weren't dead, and probably living out their wildest dreams having been thrown straight into the chaos of one of their favorite games. If he ever caught up with them, they had a lot of explaining to do. A lot.

"Yeah," Adison replied, barely able to follow through on the conversation with his mind so preoccupied. "They're my cousins."

The Councilor exhaled, a cross between a light laugh and a contemptuous scoff. "I thought as much. I suppose you'll want to get in touch with them then, let them know you're okay."

 _That's an option? Well shit, why don't you ask me if I want breakfast in bed served by a naked Jennifer Lawrence?_

"Yeah, if I can."

"Follow me. I'm scheduled to have a meeting with Shepard and Hackett, and I'm sure your cousins will be there."

A meeting? "I thought you said they left in a ship?"

"Quantum entanglement communicators," the Councilor replied, as if that would answer every question in Addison's mind. "Welcome to the future, son."

 _Gee, thanks._

* * *

There was really only one thing Ella Shepard couldn't understand. She had resolved or been content to ignore nearly every conflict her brain could think of regarding these two—make that three, now—young men, including the fact that they seemed to know more about the Reapers than even she did. She could live with the fact that they'd accumulated this treasure trove of knowledge at such a young age; hell, Liara was barely considered an adult by asari standards and she was one of the most powerful people in the galaxy. She could even live with the fact that they had a borderline precognitive ability in the sense that they always seemed unfazed by whatever happened to them.

The only tidbit that ate away at her was how in the hell had they managed to leave one behind on earth, and why Troy and Donovan had neglected to mention him. They'd been almost desperate to escape on the Normandy and clearly shared a strong bond, so why had there been no mention of Adison Ashbrook?

Having dealt with the two mysteries for going on seven hours now, Ella decided to shelf that thought and come back to it later. At the moment, she had to focus on a game plan now that the Citadel was destroyed and the Councilors were taking refuge on the Normandy. With VIPs onboard there was no way they'd be going into hostile territory anytime soon, and Hackett needed to know what a nightmare the political situation had turned into.

And evidently, the three omniscient people in the room needed a moment to regroup.

"Adison?" Troy and Donovan breathed in tandem. As soon as the third musketeer showed up on the vidcomm Ella knew he was one of theirs. He wore an almost antiquated uniform, maybe law enforcement of some kind. Not surprising. If they were truly as deep into the intelligence-gathering business as they claimed, it would make sense to have someone placed in a position of authority.

"You guys are okay," Adison said with an exhale of relief. So they hadn't been in contact since the invasion.

"Yeah we're fine," Troy quickly replied, "but you…what the hell happened?"

Adison glanced around inconspicuously but noticeably enough to anyone who knows what to look for. Perhaps the strangest thing yet about these three was that while they'd openly shared their knowledge about the Reapers there was still something being held back. Ella didn't think it was anything ominous or indicative of ill-intent, but it remained a mystery that would need to be explained at some point.

"I don't have the slightest clue," Adison answered. "I just stopped at a convenience store and next thing I know…Reapers are falling from the sky."

The other two nodded. "Same here," Troy continued. "We'd just made it to Vancouver when everything went sideways."

"How in the hell did this happen?"

"That's what we want to figure out," Donovan replied. "We've decided we might as well put our information to good use, but there's nothing in our records about something like this happening. Right now all we can do is roll with the punches and try to find a clue that'll help us."

What the hell were they talking about? The Reapers invading? That was a pretty clear-cut incident if Ella were to be frank: they'd taken their time to fly in from wherever they lived out in dark space and surged through the relays to get to earth. Nothing to figure out there.

But the way they were talking, almost like they were trying to avoid certain words or ideas, made Ella question her decision to put her trust in them. Though she knew the Alliance needed their intel, she began suspecting more seriously that they were an unknown factor. Not Reaper, not Cerberus, not Alliance. It was the smallest things that gave them away, like the Midwestern accents, the outdated clothing, and their colloquialisms despite claiming that they were born and raised on Antirumgon's moon. In fact, if she remembered correctly, she'd been in that system once or twice and didn't recall Antirumgon's moon supporting organic life. It was possible they'd lived in a biodome, but unlikely. The Alliance only shelled out for that kind of equipment if the colony was going to provide a suitable return on their investment. The story just didn't add up with the people.

Still, there was a fine line that would determine when the subject needed to be brought up and when it was still okay to be left alone. At the moment, they were all still on the okay side of that line.

"I know this is a chaotic time for everyone and you're all happy to see each other again," Hackett said, gently letting them know this wasn't the moment for personal discussions, even if they were intriguing. "But as you all know the Reapers are kicking down our door and we need to do something about it. Shepard tells me the two of you have been providing us with some pretty interesting intelligence lately. As much as we'd like to know the specifics of how you obtained this intelligence, we can't be picky at this point. So what I'm asking is simple. What in the hell happened with the Citadel?"

"Not sure I know what you mean," Donovan said. Despite having never been to the Citadel before he seemed the most affected by its destruction, and at the same time it almost felt like he'd been expecting it, just in a different form. The fact that he was pleading ignorance to Hackett's question was out of place.

"Commander Shepard informed Anderson and myself of what you told her about the Catalyst and the Crucible. Still want to know how you knew what we'd named it, but more importantly I want to know why you seemed to think this Catalyst was so important and what we're supposed to do about it now that the Citadel is a debris field."

Donovan scoffed at that, a look of contempt on his face. He was angry about losing the Citadel and possibly confused as to why it had happened, but guilt hid just underneath the surface masking itself as rage. Why would he feel responsible for losing the Citadel? He'd been there—both of them had, he and Troy—fighting alongside everyone else in an inspiring effort to keep the Councilors safe. Granted, they had a long way to go before anyone handed them a gun and told them to take on a platoon of Reapers, but they'd done their best. That was all anyone could ask.

And that was the only reason Ella felt able to put aside her mistrust for the time being. Whether they were telling the full truth or not, they'd put their lives on the line against the Reapers. That required no small amount of bravery and conviction.

"We don't know, sir," Troy answered, his cousin wallowing in negative thoughts. "According to our sources, the Catalyst is the energy source for the Crucible. I don't know of any other way to effectively use the weapon against the Reapers without the Citadel."

"Wait," Adison interrupted, throwing an obscure yet meaningful look to his cousins. "The Citadel is gone?"

Troy's head dropped in a nod, looking in every direction but the vidcomm. "Yeah. It was a shitshow, and now we're basically fucked. None of this should've happened."

"But it did happen nonetheless," Hackett said, "and we need to find a way to pick up the pieces. If there's not a solution available, we make one. Commander I'm ordering you and your crew to Sentinel Outpost. The Councilors should be safe there until we can establish a line of communication with their respective governments. Hopefully they'll be amenable to a universal strategy now that they know what the Reapers are going to do to them. I'll be there personally to meet with you."

Ella snapped a salute. "Aye aye, sir."

"Everyone else, keep doing what you're doing. We've got a long way to go before we win this war."

* * *

Well I'll be damned if that wasn't one of the happiest and most worrying conversations I'd ever had. It was good at least to see that Adison was okay and along for the ride on this fucked up cruise, but with the Citadel gone and him stranded on earth everything was turning into an expertly crafted nightmare. Not only were a few million or so people dead, but pretty much the rest of the galaxy was too because we weren't going to be able to use the Crucible. Even if Hackett miraculously managed to gather every single organic in the universe, we wouldn't stand a chance. Maybe we'd take down a tenth of the Reapers, and that was a generous calculation. Add to that the fact that my cousin was stuck on earth duking it out with the most abominable monstrosities in existence with no one there to watch his back, and it all amounted to one huge knot twisting in my stomach.

Fuck the world.

Apparently after the destruction of the Citadel we'd hit the relay and landed in the Hawking Eta cluster, a good hiding place as there was relatively little there to attract the Reapers. So upon receiving our new orders from Hackett, I was told that it would be several hours until we would make it to Sentinel Outpost. And once we did, it would probably be several more hours waiting for the important people to have their conversation and determine a course of action.

Now that the Citadel was gone and our info completely useless, Troy and I weren't in that circle anymore. It was possible that some things would still remain true to the story as we knew it, but everything paled in comparison to the relevance of the Catalyst. Honestly, if they'd known about it right from the beginning, Shepard probably could've saved herself a lot of wear and tear by just deploying the thing and stopping the Reapers in their tracks. Even if you consider how much time and effort it would've taken to gather the resources and actually build the damn thing, they still could've put an end to the war way earlier.

But of course, something got fucked up. At that point I didn't even really care about what had caused such a drastic fuck-up, I was just pissed that it had happened in the first place and punishing myself by taking the weight of the galaxy on my shoulders. It's always been one of my worst weaknesses, acting as if everything that could ever go wrong around me was somehow my responsibility to prevent. It sounds very cliché, but when you take on a burden like that—one that no one is able to carry or ever should try to—it crushes you. Makes you incapable of rational thought and therefore renders you pretty much completely useless, compounding the effect. I've gone through the cycle enough times that I know the correct way to deal with it: a pack of Marlboros and a few shots of Jack. Unfortunately I had neither, so I had to settle with the next best thing.

For whatever reason, Shepard, Liara and Kaidan were nowhere to be found after our meeting with Hackett, so I took Kaidan's usual hangout spot at the Starboard Observation Deck. It was quiet, vacant, and had a decent view of the galaxy skimming by as we flew faster than light, so it worked for a while. Let me beat the shit out of myself for almost a solid minute before the door slid open.

Have I already declared my frustration with my life? I know I have, I simply can't emphasize enough how much it hates me. Won't even let me have sixty seconds to myself before throwing another unpleasant situation on me.

"You okay?" Daniels asked. I didn't even turn to look at her, I could just hear the concern and sympathy in her voice. Most of the time those are good characteristics to display to someone going through what I was, but when I'm as angry and confused as I was in that moment I don't really give a shit about anyone else's emotions.

To be honest I thought Daniels would've been the last person to come see me after our last discussion. After all, I had managed to piss her off, tell her I didn't trust her despite the fact that she'd saved my life, and instill quite a bit of distrust in her. Not exactly a winning combo for a follow-up conversation. On the other hand, I did throw some pretty crazy shit in the air and it deserved no less than a terse explanation.

"Yeah, fucking beautiful," I replied, pacing the length of the room. "The Citadel's destroyed and with it our best chance of taking the Reapers out. All rainbows and sunshine here."

So maybe I wasn't really in the right mindset for explanations.

"I heard what happened out there," she said, pacing into the room to take a seat on one of the couches. "I'd say that's what's bothering you, but you saw a lot of action back on earth and that barely affected you."

"I'm sorry, are you a shrink or a medic?"

Even I in my jackassed-out state knew it was a low blow, but the woman didn't seem to take offense at the remark. She just leaned back into the couch and faced me, eyes bent in a mixture of compassion and confusion. I hate that look.

"You know what the difference is between a medic and a doctor?" Daniels asked.

Honestly yes, but when I get pissy it only increases my sarcasm and I just blurt whatever comes to mind. In this case, an RvB reference. "Yeah, doctors heal people. Medics just make them more comfortable while they die."

It was only when Daniels gave me a _"really?"_ look that I realized the joke didn't work. She actually had saved my life. Dumb-ass.

"Doctors have it easy. They go in to work, treat their patients in a sterile environment with plenty of resources and assistance, and they're not being shot at while trying to fix a guy whose arm nearly got blown off by a mortar. The difference between us is that medics are soldiers who do their best to keep everyone else alive. We don't have the advantage of a decent medical staff or infinite resources at our disposal. We just have to do what we can with what we have. Sometimes it's not enough."

I wasn't exactly sure where she was going with this little story, so I just shrugged. "Okay. What are you trying to say exactly?"

"I've seen a lot of soldiers die in battle. But the weird thing is that most of them don't die because they were outmatched or outsmarted by their enemy. Most of them die because someone's head wasn't in it. Whether it was their own, someone else in their unit, or even the officer in charge of the operation. Most soldiers die because of a bad decision resulting from someone not thinking clearly."

Ah, now it made sense. True, my mental sanity had been called into question more than once, but I'd never been in a position where it could jeopardize someone's life. Regardless, I didn't really care to be psychoanalyzed, and Daniels had to have some other agenda for it. More than likely Shepard had sent her to dig up something that would help explain everything about Troy and I. Not gonna happen.

"And you think that by sharing whatever's stressing me out I won't fuck things up again."

"Again?"

I scowled. She was baiting me, and quite effectively, into revealing one of the many things I was pissed off about. "Shepard had to beat me unconscious just to get me into that elevator. If she hadn't, I would've gotten them all killed."

Daniels shrugged. "You did what you thought was right. Shepard's a good person, but she's a better soldier. In situations like that it comes down to a tactical decision: is the life worth saving, or should it be abandoned? She decided to save you."

What the fuck was this? I swear to God it was like being stuck in a room with Sigmund Freud. Here I'd thought she just wanted to know what the hell was going on, but instead she'd started inquiring about my mental health and trying to give me affirmation.

 _Trust me girl, you don't want to dive too deep._

"So you're saying what?" I asked, doing everything I could to get out of this little chat aside from walking out the door. It was my room for now, and if anyone would leave it'd be her. "You think I have a fucked up image of myself? That I don't care whether I live or die? Stop the fucking presses: I don't! My life isn't worth shit! The only reason I still live it is because I hold on to the blind, desperate hope that there's a way for me to make it better for someone else. So yeah, I'm pissed about the Citadel. Maybe I blame myself for it. But none of that matters because I can't do a fucking thing about it. What I can do is sit here and beat the shit out of myself, then use that to drive me into beating the shit out of the Reapers. So if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to it."

I leaned one arm against the glass separating us from the void of space and breathed heavily. The adrenaline was wearing thin, causing me to realize just how enraged I'd become during the outburst. I always do this; I hold my emotions in for so long that the smallest thing causes me to fire away like a bazooka at the person genuinely trying to help. Life is a machine dedicated to making you feel shitty about it.

Daniels moved in the corner of my eye and I heard her footsteps as she walked to the door. I wanted to apologize, but part of me felt like I was justified in going off like that. Probably the part that realized I'd needed to say those things, just not in a way that alienated everyone around me.

Then, to my surprise, Daniels spoke again.

"You're not alone, you know. Don't act like you are."

The door slammed shut.

* * *

After a good three hours of watching the stars go by and thinking about everything Daniels and I had discussed, it caught me by surprise when we dropped out of FTL in the middle of an asteroid field. Evidently Sentinel Outpost was an Alliance black site used for illegal R&D, specialized training for "soldiers of fortune," and basically anything that the general populace would frown upon. The only reason it wasn't obliterated like Gagarin or Arcturus is because it was carved deep into a frozen asteroid a few hundred miles beyond Pluto's orbit. Internal heat monitoring and bi-hourly ventilation ensured that emissions from the station appeared to be nothing more than the vapor trail off a huge chunk of ice. Unfortunately for the two dozen people posted there, that also meant no one could leave. Any ship docking with the station would give the rouse away easily. Luckily for us, Normandy's stealth systems along with the Reaper IFF gave us the perfect avenue to get in and out. That was probably the driving factor for Hackett setting up this meeting, now that I thought about it; he literally had no way out of the place without us. Getting the Councilors together in a secure environment was probably just a bonus.

The inside of the station was way more fascinating than the outside. We entered through a chasm in the asteroid just wide enough to fit the Kodiak shuttle in and went through six levels of depressurization and security screens before finally touching down on the only visible landing pad. Not many people came or went even before the invasion, apparently.

Hackett greeted the Councilors and Shepard first, of course. Priorities. I was actually expecting Troy and I to get passed over in all the mayhem, but it seems I seriously underestimated our importance. After making the usual pleasantries, Hackett shook our hands and ushered us into the heart of the station, a massive circular room with a holographic projection table in the center. It was laid out almost like a college classroom or a football stadium on a much smaller scale, with seats and stairs continually descending toward the holo-table. I suppose the room itself wasn't necessarily massive, just the realtime projections of Earth, Thessia, Palaven, Sur-Kesh, Tuchanka, and a half dozen other worlds I couldn't recognize just from the images. A few corridors led away presumably to other parts of the station. Damn but I'd like to find out what went on beyond those doors.

So this was the Alliance's makeshift command center. As far as secret Batcaves go, you really couldn't ask for a better one.

It was only when I went to take a seat that I realized the Councilors hadn't joined us. Hackett and Shepard stood confidently next to the projection, facing Troy and I with a purpose. I already knew this was going to be interesting if they wanted to talk to us before the Council.

"It's good to finally meet you two in person," Hackett said. "I admit to having no small amount of suspicion about how you came to acquire the knowledge you possess, but beggars can't be choosers. So now the problem becomes how we defeat the Reapers without the Catalyst."

I just nodded. What was I supposed to tell him, really? That there was no hope whatsoever? That the Reapers had defied all logic and destroyed the entity that created them on the off chance that they'd kill Shepard and the Councilors too? Or maybe that was why they'd done it; they knew our cycle held a good chance to thwart them, so they'd taken away our only means of doing so.

Still, that wouldn't be helpful, and it would reveal far too much insight into how the Reapers thought. Having to hold back everything I knew was probably harder than dealing with the loss of the Citadel.

"I don't think we can be much help there," Troy said. "The Protheans' entire plan for the Crucible rested on the Citadel. Without it, I don't have the slightest idea how to fight the Reapers."

"Surely the protheans had a contingency?" Hackett asked. "They couldn't put all their eggs in one basket and hope it worked."

"That's exactly what they did," I stated. "Look at the losses we've taken so far, Admiral. Imagine twenty years down the road. One of the biggest misconceptions is that the Reapers do their thing quickly and head back out to dark space. In reality, it can take them decades to eradicate the sentient races of the galaxy. The protheans had been at war for years when they were finally turned on to the idea of the Crucible. Before that, they tried everything conceivable, and it didn't work. This was our best shot."

In case you haven't noticed, I get a bit depressing when the galaxy's only hope for survival gets thrown out the window. Shepard and Hackett were certainly not blind to this fact, having witnessed it firsthand. I know it does no good to spread despair around in a hopeless situation, but that was really all there was to hand out.

"Then maybe you can tell me what the Crucible and Catalyst were supposed to do," Hackett continued, as if more conversation would somehow solve our problem. "Maybe if we understand how the weapon is supposed to work, we can find another solution in lieu of the Catalyst."

He really wasn't getting the memo.

"There is no other solution," I said, pressing the matter. "The Catalyst was the actual firing mechanism, a switch to shoot raw energy through the relays that would target the Reapers. So unless you can find a way to create another Citadel before the Reapers wipe us out, I don't see any realistic options."

Hackett chuckled. Not a condescending or disparaging sigh like I had been expecting, but a laugh. My negativity toward the situation had absolutely no impact on the man.

"There's always an option, son. How old are you?"

 _Why the hell do you want to know?_

"Twenty-one."

"Hm, younger than you look. Ever been in combat before?"

"Not until we had to fight our way through two squads of Cannibals back in Vancouver. Then there was the clusterfuck on the Citadel. That was fun."

"I take it sarcasm is your fallback in desperate times." I shrugged. "Everyone has their own way of coping. When I saw my first real firefight I spent two weeks of shore leave in a bar afterward. It ended when I finally realized that trying to suppress my fear and confusion was causing more harm than good. Every soldier sees things he wishes he could forget, and we're bound to see a lot of that in this war. But the resounding truth of the human race is that we're tenacious. We can bounce back from anything if we push ourselves far enough. I know you're not soldiers, and I know you never expected to be part of this fight, but we need you. And we need you at your best."

 _Yeah, never expected to be here because IT'S A VIDEO GAME! This shit isn't supposed to happen! I'm twenty-one years old, I just want to get drunk, hang out with my boys and mess around with chicks! Keep the serious shit to the Xbox!_

Weirdly enough though, Hackett's speech actually got to me. This is the strange thing about humanity: for most of us (or for me, at least) it's a pretty simple matter to get crushed by life. Maybe some people just have an inclination to let all the negative things bother them, or maybe we're so fucked up we take the responsibility for every one of those things as a personal failure. Whatever the reason, falling isn't that hard to do when you're alone. In fact it's pretty damn easy. The hard part is picking yourself back up after you fall. And when you have someone encouraging you—even if they're just being overly persistent with their optimism—it affects you. Takes the edge off a bit of that negativity.

Damn, if only I'd been less of an ass to Daniels. Why did she always have to be right?

I nodded, avoiding direct eye contact, acknowledging the fact that I had let my emotions get the better of me and telling myself I'd work on it. Apparently that was enough.

"As it happens, we do have something you might be suited for," Hackett stated. "After decimating earth's major cities and cutting our lines of communication, the Reapers started focusing heavily on the Middle East, we're not sure why. As far as we're aware, there's nothing out there worth their time."

Well, the best way to get over your emotional baggage and ignore the fact that you're doomed is to jump right in the middle of another inexplicable predicament. Fuck it, might as well do something.

"Where at in the Middle East?" Troy asked.

"Primarily Israel. Jerusalem and Damascus. Most of the Middle Eastern countries were evacuated fairly quickly, so there's no real population to convert for their drones."

"You think they're after something," I said, voicing a thought more than really engaging in intelligent conversation.

"It would make sense, given the way the Reapers act. They attack with overwhelming force, cut off supply lines, then communication, then they turn us against each other. Even on a galactic scale. They bogged the Council races down in heavy fighting so they could move on to the less troublesome worlds unhindered. Then they took the Citadel. Everything they do is precise and meticulous. There must be some reason for them snooping around in Israel."

If there was, I sure as hell didn't know about it, and Hackett could probably see that on my face. I'm sure Troy was just as transparent.

"Well, until we can come up with a plan of attack against the Reapers at large, I'd like you to figure out exactly what's happening back on earth."

Wait, what? We were going back to Jakku—I mean, earth? Just because the Reapers were dicking around in the Middle East? We should be counting it as a blessing that they weren't massing in New York or London or Tokyo. Just let sleeping monstrosities lie!

"Sorry, sir," Shepard said, confusion and misunderstanding written all over her face. "What exactly do you think we'll be able to do there? The Reapers outnumber us a hundred to one."

"I'm aware of that, Commander, but seeing as the Council is here under our wing there's no need for you to be out gathering the galaxy under one banner. They see the need for that with the Citadel gone. Your place is where the fighting is the most intense. And if you can dig up any information on what the Reapers are looking for in Israel, all the better."

Shepard nodded diagonally, the kind of thing I do when I don't agree with something but have to do it anyway. "Yes sir."

"In the meantime I'll be here with the Council working on the bigger picture."

"Actually…" Troy interrupted to the slight surprise of everyone in the room. "I've got something that might help with that."

"You do?" I asked, genuinely curious. What could he have possibly remembered that we would have forgotten?

"Javik and the Leviathan," he replied. Fuck! How the hell did I forget about that?

"Come again?" Shepard said.

"On Eden Prime, scientists have discovered the wreckage of an old prothean stasis facility. They believe there may be active life signs in some of these pods."

"You're saying there may be a living prothean in stasis on Eden Prime?" Hackett asked for clarification.

"Only way to know for sure is to go there and find out. Same thing can be said about the Leviathan. I think it was Task Force Aurora that was set to research it?"

He directed the question to Hackett, and the man finally staggered in conversation. Out of all the things we'd exhibited an almost preternatural insight about, it made sense that the only one that took him off-guard was regarding an Alliance black op.

"How do you know about—?"

"Does it matter?" Troy interrupted yet again, pushing the subject. "I'm not sure if the prothean's worth a damn, but the Leviathan is. Thing is massive. And it has an effect similar to indoctrination, but stronger than the Reaper version. If nothing else, it can help us in ground fights."

Shepard was having a hard time believing any of it, I could tell by the scrunched up eyes and all-around skepticism emanating from her. But Hackett was a man who would do whatever it took to get the job done, especially if the job involved saving humanity from complete extinction.

"You've made your point," he conceded. "But then we have a new problem. I need you on earth, but I can't trust missions like these to anyone else. We don't have the time or manpower to take on all three."

"Admiral," Shepard stepped in. "Are we sure this is a good idea? Chasing down theories and stories from overexcited scientists?"

"With the Citadel gone I don't see what other choice we have," Hackett replied. "We need to keep our options open, and this is as far open as they get, Shepard."

"Understood, sir. Then I might know how we can be in two places at once."

Without much warning, Shepard brought her omni-tool to life and pressed a series of buttons. No more than a few seconds later the door at the rear of the room slid open, and if my jaw hadn't been attached to the rest of my skull I'm sure it would've hit the floor so loud the Reapers a thousand miles away would've heard it.

Garrus Vakarian stood there in his shining blue/black/silver armor, clearly distinguishable from any other turian by the pale tan skin tone, the blue markings under his eyes and across his mandibles, and the obvious scarring across the right side of his face.

My turian homie, the Two-Face of Mass Effect, the most honorable person in the entire fucking galaxy, stood in the same room. Awe isn't a strong enough word. It was like God Himself had stepped down from heaven for a minute.

"Shepard," he said, his dual-toned voice full of confidence and authority. "Ready to kick some ass?"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Okay guys, my apologies for letting the story run dry for nearly a month. Things have been a little hectic on this end and for a while there it felt like I might not be able to get back into the story. Thankfully I finally did, and here's the result. Not too exciting of a chapter, but hopefully it's clear by now that the non-exciting chapters are there to serve as intros to the exciting ones. So next time will be more interesting. And don't worry, I'm already halfway done with chapter six :D

 **general-jospeh-dickson:** Thank you sir. Different is always good. Had a bit of a slump here recently, but things should start picking up again soon. Stay tuned!

 **Dawn of Destruction:** I can't even respond to that. I've only been a part of the Fanfic community for a couple months now, but I know there are some pretty incredible ME writers so that is quite a compliment. Hopefully I continue to live up to your expectations!

 **spiral83:** Fear not, my friend. I know a lot of people kind of just start writing a story with no real direction, but that's one of the explanations for why ME3 ended so horribly. Not making the same mistake here. I'm pretty sure what I've come up with should catch your eye, but at the same time it'll make way more sense than Starchild. Just...no.

 **Toothless is best:** No worries! As you can see we all get busy from time to time. And good eye! I was working on my Halo fic at the same time I was writing chapters 3 and 4 and evidently mixed up the names. So many planets to keep straight :S

 **Puppystomper:** Muchas gracias! Even if it takes me a while I'm pretty determined to finish this story, and from there I have plans for a sequel. Not sure if that'll come to fruition, but half the fun of writing is planning some crazy stuff and seeing what you can viably put to paper. So keep reading! It'll only get crazier.

And as always, thanks for the faves and follows! I'm still getting used to my new work schedule so I can't promise regular updates, but I can say that for now I'm writing fairly regularly and should be able to post another chapter in a week or so. Hope you enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

_Shepard,_

 _In case Troy and I don't make it, there are a few things you need to know that I'd rather not go down with us. I know you don't completely trust us yet and you have every right not to, but what I'm about to say is extremely important and completely unbelievable. So naturally I'll need you to believe me._

 _My cousins and I shared an experience a while ago that gave us all the information we have on the Reapers, Cerberus, even you. But the kicker is that it also showed us something else. Everything we've told you, everything that we've predicted that's come true, we literally saw it unfold. We saw you fighting Sovereign and Saren three years ago, we saw you take on the Collectors, and we saw the events of this war. Everything from the invasion of earth all the way to you stopping the Reapers. That's why we showed up, because things get really shitty and we were hoping that we could help out in that regard. Best way to prevent tragedy is to know it's coming, right? I'm leaving you this message in the hope that if the worst does happen to us, you'll know everything we do._

 _First, to stop the Reapers you'll need everyone's support, and I mean everyone. We can't win this fight on our own. No one can. The only way we have a chance to pull through is if the galaxy is operating as one unified body. Soldiers, citizens, even criminals. According to the way I saw things unfold, you're supposed to work out a treaty between the krogan and turians by curing the genophage. Mordin is already on Tuchanka helping Wrex. You just need to be there to fight off the Reapers when they come knocking and make sure the plan goes off without a hitch. This is where things get a bit weird. The way I saw things happen, Cerberus and the Reapers didn't attack the Citadel so early. I'll explain later on, but Cerberus should've been a major pain in your ass up until you take them down just before the end of the war._

 _I guess you could call what I saw a different reality. Maybe it was what could've happened as opposed to what did happen. Either way, in this other reality Udina was on the Council rather than Anderson, and he assists Cerberus in an attempted coup on the Citadel. You manage to head them off and keep the Council alive, but a lot of people die in the chaos. Also the Citadel isn't destroyed, so it's used with the Crucible to end the war. I'll get to that in a bit._

 _After foiling the Citadel coup Hackett informs you that you need the quarians and geth. They're back at Rannoch fighting over the planet. The quarians developed some kind of countermeasure against the geth that makes them easier to kill, so the geth are going to ally with the Reapers out of self-defense. Legion doesn't agree with the consensus, but the geth are already controlled by a Destroyer on Rannoch, so you take it out before you can attempt to negotiate peace. I know it seems impossible because of the quarians' hatred of the geth, but if they're shown that the geth are willing to entertain a peace treaty, and if the geth believe the quarians can uphold that kind of deal, it can be done. In this other reality you need their fleets and technical expertise to combat the Reapers and build the Crucible._

 _There are a bunch of smaller things too that don't hold quite as much weight, but are equally important, like Javik. Unfortunately he doesn't know much, but he's a hell of a soldier. I don't know how different things are here compared to this other reality, but it couldn't hurt to be prepared so I'll just say this: se sure to get in touch with all your old crew members—they'll need help in their own ways, and they can offer quite a bit of it in the war._

 _Now, in the other reality, once you've worked out a peace between the krogan and turians, the salarian government isn't too happy with you, but there are a few that understand cooperation is more important than millennia-old prejudice. Captain Kirrahe helps you out there, as well as a Spectre named Jondum Bau, if he's still alive, so maybe they can do the same here._

 _As for the asari, you shouldn't need much convincing. Liara holds a lot of sway on Thessia and I'm sure Tevos will be amenable to an alliance after seeing what happened on the Citadel. The way I saw things unfold, you head to Thessia to find that beacon I mentioned. Kind of irrelevant now since I told you everything important about it, but like I said, never hurts to know._

 _It's worth mentioning that everything I've seen depends on the Crucible. When you ultimately win the war, it's by connecting the Crucible to the Catalyst, which turns out to be an artificial intelligence created by the Leviathans, the first race to master space travel. The Leviathans realized there would be no way to ensure a lasting peace between organics and their synthetic creations, so they created an AI to find the solution. Brilliant move, I know. Essentially the Catalyst determined that the best way to eliminate conflict was to preserve organics in Reaper form every fifty thousand years, ensuring that they weren't completely wiped out by synthetics. But when the Catalyst realizes what the Crucible is capable of, it gives you three options. I ranked them from "fucking terrible" to "Goddamn nightmare."_

 _#1. Destroy the Reapers. This will also destroy all technology in the galaxy. The relays, ships, cybernetics—everything. On the up side, no more Reapers. On the downside, we depend on technology for everything, so we might as well be dooming ourselves to the Stone Age again._

 _#2. Control the Reapers. This one's not too bad I guess, aside from the fact that you will essentially become the Catalyst, and the Reapers' actions will be solely your choice. Doesn't take away the abominations of nature, but it does stop the war._

 _#3. Merge synthetic and organic DNA into one form. All life in the galaxy will be rewritten at the genetic level, forcing us all to the apex of evolution. Honestly I'm not sure what this means, only that it brings the galaxy to harmony at the cost of losing our identity as organic life forms._

 _The real problem is that in all these scenarios, you die. I'd like to be gentler about it, but I don't think you care about me placating you when the galaxy's at stake. And of course, this is all moot unless you can find a way to operate the Crucible without the Citadel. That's why I was so surprised when the Reapers destroyed it; I couldn't see any fathomable reason why they would, since the Catalyst is what controls them. But I've come to the conclusion that my experience wasn't true to life. Some things have already changed, and many more are sure to do so, which means there may still be hope. If the Catalyst isn't relevant or simply didn't exist, maybe there's another solution to beating the Reapers. Maybe if everyone stands up together against them, we can make it through to the other side._

 _Then again, this is all according to how I saw it go down in this other reality, and that obviously isn't what's happening. I thought I knew everything that was doomed to go wrong and could help prevent it, or at least find a way to minimize the damage. Now I don't know what we're supposed to do. The Reapers are hitting us harder than I expected. Hopefully when you track down Leviathan and Javik Hackett will have a plan in motion. I just thought that you should know how things could have gone. Maybe it can still help in the future._

 _So, that's it. That's everything I know. I would say feel free to ask me if there's anything you need clarification on, but if you're reading this I'm probably well on my way to the afterlife. Just take care of yourself Shepard. And if I die and the others don't, take care of my cousins. They're idiots._

 _Donovan_

* * *

I finished writing the letter and reread it for the third time, looking to make sure I didn't forget anything. In all honesty I doubted it would be helpful, but in the event that something happened to Troy and I it couldn't hurt to let Shepard know what should have gone down.

The shuttle rocked with the vibration of atmospheric entry momentarily, and I snapped the omni-tool shut to return myself to the moment.

"Writing your memoirs over there?" Troy asked, cradling his new sniper rifle.

"Just planning a contingency," I replied. "Can't hurt to leave behind a little advice in case we get shit on down there."

"That's not gonna happen," Garrus said. Even after the initial awe of meeting him back at Sentinel, seeing him standing at his full seven feet was still a sight to behold. "First rule of combat: never underestimate yourself. If you think you're going to die, nine times out of ten you probably will."

Words of wisdom indeed. Fight like hell and you'll come out alive. And to aid that noble pursuit, you need some badass tools.

After receiving our orders Troy and I had been geared up with some spare equipment back at the Outpost. We hadn't had a huge selection to choose from, but anything was better than nothing. The armor was actually much lighter than I'd originally thought it would be, and it fit me like a glove. Looked pretty damn cool too, a bit like Colossus armor, and with the red undersuit accenting the black plating we actually looked like legitimate badasses. Redundant kinetic field generators, shock-absorbing tri-weave armor plates, and muscle-enhancing servomechanisms all augmented our ability to stay alive. Just from our small field test I could already see a marked difference in reaction time, physical strength, and durability. Took a good deal of physical conditioning just to function, but I was in pretty good shape even before being thrust into a war. Most of the jobs I worked back home were manual labor; when you get paid for your muscles they tend to get pretty strong.

That wasn't to say I wasn't going to have difficulty with the cardio part of the whole deal. My body's built for short, intense bursts of strength. Duration was something I was going to have to work on. The downside of being a smoker. Luckily Troy never smoked quite as much as me, so he probably had it a bit better off.

Thankfully the weapons we'd grabbed during the assault on the Citadel weren't just pieces of shit carried by low-level C-Sec officers, either. I hadn't had time to notice it during all the commotion, but I'd actually grabbed an Avenger X assault rifle. Not the best in terms of stopping power, but the rate of fire was incredible and whoever had previously owned it had attached something of a cross between a thermal clip and an old-school heat discharge system. Best of both worlds. If it overheated I could pop the clip out and put in a new one, or if I didn't feel like messing with it I could just wait a few seconds and let it cool down. Lucky for me, the ammo block was so big and the ROF so good that I hadn't even had to cool off in the fight on the Citadel. Hopefully the trend would continue.

Troy, however, got the winningest end of the deal. The sniper he'd picked up was an M-99 Saber. He said the thing damn near blew his arm off every time he fired it, but the clip held twelve shots that could apparently cut right through a Marauder's shields and pop its head like a melon in one blow. Adjustable tactical scope for close or long range engagements that could also display enemies on the HUD from a hundred meters away. With him on scout duty, we'd never get caught unaware by Reaper ground troops unless they dropped on top of us.

"They need names," Troy said from the other side of the shuttle. "The guns, I mean."

I laughed at that. We were really doing this. Despite debatably not wanting to get involved in the actual fighting, there we were flying to Jerusalem in full body armor to take on the Reapers. Not only that, we were forming sentimental attachments to our weapons. The spare pistols we'd grabbed at Sentinel didn't matter much, but the rifles were the weapons we'd used to hold back the Reapers and save the Council. They deserved a bit of respect.

"I like _Veritas_ for yours," I replied.

"Truth," Troy said, translating the meaning. "Fuck yeah. Always finds its mark. Yours should be _Invidium_."

I frowned. I know as much Latin as the next guy, but I can't speak it fluently. That one wasn't on my list of commonly used words.

"Invidium?"

"Means hatred," Troy answered. "Figured it fits, you know, since most of the guys you're gonna kill with that thing deserve nothing less."

Huh. Invidium. The more I said it in my mind, the more I grew to like it. In addition to matching a killer name with a killer weapon, it seemed like a good metaphor. We all carry hate around with us—no one can deny having baggage, whether they have it under control or not. At least this way I was using it productively.

"I like it," I finally said. "Invidium and Veritas. Sounds like we're ready to kick some ass."

"Well, if that's settled, then," Garrus chimed in.

"Oh come on, Garrus," Troy pleaded. "You're one of the best snipers in the damn galaxy. You haven't named your rifle?"

"This rifle's just a weapon. It does its job like it's supposed to. If I give it a name it becomes a pet."

"Or a friend," I added. "That's what friends are there for, right? To save your ass when Reapers come crashing through the atmosphere?"

"To each his own, I guess. Just make sure you're ready. We're touching down in five."

With that the biggest turian badass in history turned and headed for the cockpit. It wasn't until then that I realized I had no idea who was flying the shuttle, but really, who gives a damn? As long as it wasn't a Reaper in disguise I really didn't need to know.

Five minutes to drop. I wasn't even worried about the fact that we were literally going to jump out of the shuttle from a hundred meters. I've done plenty of stupid life-endangering things before; I was more focused on what Shepard was doing at that moment. Probably still travelling to Eden Prime. With Cerberus gone and the Leviathan really beyond my area of expertise I wouldn't have been much good accompanying her, but I'd planned on guiding her every step of the way. Knowing she was going off with her entire squad while Garrus was stuck with two inexperienced guys as his backup didn't help.

I still didn't understand why he was there. He'd said something about the fight on Palaven being irrelevant until we found a way to combat the Reapers effectively, but it still didn't make sense. More than likely he and Shepard were hiding something, levelling the playing field a bit. Obviously Hackett had some ulterior motive for sending us to earth, but I decided to just be happy that he'd trusted us enough to send us on an important mission.

After the initial meeting on Sentinel Outpost we'd had a short debrief with Garrus about what we were headed into, during which Hackett had requested the room so he and Shepard could speak privately with our turian ally. If it had been anyone other than Garrus I would have been nervous about the whole thing, but I felt like I knew the guy almost as a brother. As far as honorable people go, he was one of the coolest characters I've ever had the pleasure of meeting in my gaming experience. If he said we were going to Jerusalem to fight the Reapers, okay. Secrecy aside, I knew he wouldn't let anything get in the way of our safety or that of the mission.

It's probably stupid to trust a fictional character you've never actually met before. Honestly though, I didn't really care. My world had been flipped upside down and torn apart. I had to take solace in whatever form it presented itself. The fact that that form was Garrus Vakarian was fine with me.

In the end, it all came down to Hackett finding a solution to the Reaper threat and getting Council support. We'd have to trust him that this mission wasn't borne of simple curiosity.

"Time to go," Garrus said, strolling purposefully out of the cockpit to grab his weapons.

Troy and I stood simultaneously, collapsing our rifles and mounting them to the holsters on our backs. After a few mishaps getting acquainted with all the futuristic gear we managed to get it down to an easy reflex. By that point we could holster and draw our weapons in less than two seconds.

"Ready?" Troy asked, both of us flanking Garrus on either side.

I nodded. "Let's do it."

Without warning the shuttle door opened abruptly. Wind whipped at my armor ferociously as we skimmed across the surface of Israel's deserts, forcing me to put effort into keeping myself in the shuttle. I switched the auricular implant on and listened for Garrus's go. In addition to the wind I could hear the ominous moans of Reaper Capital ships and the occasional blast of laser fire.

We waited for at least thirty seconds. The landscape was complete destruction; you wouldn't think a desert could get much worse, but when you see the craters left by mortar fire and the corpses of people who didn't make it to shuttles on time, you appreciate the undisturbed beauty of nature a bit more. We always appreciate things more when they're gone. What's that saying? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?

Fuck that. We have to learn to value what we have before we lose it.

My thoughts were cut short when Garrus yelled into the comms and suddenly jumped out the shuttle. In spite of the adrenaline pounding in my skull telling me not to, I kicked my feet off the floor of the shuttle and lost my breath as it whooshed on past, leaving me suspended in mid-air.

I can't begin to describe how surreal the experience is. If you've ever been sky-diving I'm sure it's probably a relatable situation, but I wouldn't know because I've never been. All I know is that I was met with an initial surge of terror and a knock to the stomach that took the breath right out of me. The wind snapped past savagely as we plummeted to the ground, gravity and velocity increasing the speed of our descent. If it weren't for the helmet and visor covering my eyes I wouldn't have been able to keep them open.

After about fifteen seconds, when the ground started to creep up on me at an increasingly rapid rate, the air instantly lightened and my body twisted as gravity bent from the distortion of the shuttle's mass effect core. It essentially broke the laws of physics so that gravity was acting on me in two separate directions: the stronger force pulling me towards the earth, and the weaker one pulling me towards the shuttle. Without the armor it would have snapped my spine in half. Thank God for futuristic gravity-resistant space suits.

After only a few more seconds I hit the ground just lightly enough not to break anything but hard enough to force me to collapse on all fours and roll half a dozen times to reduce the impact. Sand kicked up in a whirlwind as the three of us hit solid ground, touching back on earth. Of course, my first experience with atmospheric re-entry had to be falling out of the sky.

"Everyone in one piece?" Garrus asked.

I pushed myself to hands and knees, spitting sand. "Yep, all good. These suits can filter waste, right? Because I think I'm gonna hurl."

"At least you didn't kick yourself in the ass," I heard Troy say from somewhere to my left. I wasn't even going to try opening my eyes yet.

"You did what?" I asked, stifling a laugh.

"The fucking wind, dude. I was flipping around like a damn coin in the air."

And I burst out laughing when I realized he was serious. "You actually kicked yourself in the ass? How is that even possible?!"

I think even Garrus got a kick out of that, no pun intended. I'm not sure because I couldn't hear anything above my own uproar, but there was no way he didn't find that funny. The Reapers were probably even laughing if they'd managed to see it.

It took about ten seconds for me to finally collect myself, and I managed to stand upright despite the uneven sand. Thankfully Israel wasn't all desert. We had about a kilometer to travel until we hit Jerusalem, where it would turn into a mix of desert and grassland. Even from that distance, we could see at least two Reapers looming over the landscape.

I've questioned my sanity a lot during the course of my life, and I did it again right then. We were about to walk right up to these bastards and ask what the hell was going on. Well, maybe not ask, just riddle them with bullets and run like hell until our curiosity was satisfied. Not the best plan I've ever been a part of, but when in Jerusalem you might as well fight a war however the hell you want.

"Damn," Troy uttered as he stood to his feet, gazing out at the same sight Garrus and I were taking in. "And we're walking into that alone?"

"Not quite," a voice called out from behind us. Even though I knew the voice I instinctively spun to find the source, and relief hit my blood harder than I've ever felt it.

"Adison!" I yelled.

"Dude!" Troy exclaimed, joining me in a rush to greet our brother. I made it to him first, nearly tackling him to the ground in a rushed embrace, and a second later Troy collided with both of us. We didn't even care that Garrus was watching or that there was a platoon of Alliance troops just beyond; our cousin was safe and presumably about to join us in this crazy state of affairs. Some much-needed celebration was in order.

After a few seconds we all finally pulled away and looked each other over. Adison was decked out in full Alliance military gear with at least five weapons on him, one of them being the kind of rifle Marauders typically use. No doubt Troy and I looked equally out of place in complete body armor.

"It's good to actually see you guys," Adison said, a light smile spread across his face.

"Fucking glad you're okay dude," I replied. My breathing was deep and strained, probably just from the ease of mind stemming from finally seeing Adison with my own two eyes.

"Well I'd ask what you guys have been up to, but I'm pretty sure I get the picture."

"Yeah I'm getting the same vibe from you," Troy said, staring over Adison's shoulder at the veritable army behind him. At least thirty or forty soldiers marched in the sand followed by two Mako-looking assault vehicles and a group of guys carrying what I assumed to be some kind of artillery. This wasn't going to be a quick in-and-out mission like I'd assumed.

We were there to blow the Reapers to hell.

"So what are we waiting for?" Garrus asked from behind. "Let's go kick some Reaper ass."

* * *

Twenty minutes into our journey through the sand I was really beginning to doubt my decision to go along with this mission. We'd reached the far outskirts of sprawling Jerusalem, surveying the city from a slightly elevated extrusion of the earth, and an ominous dread pierced the air while we watched two Reapers ambling amongst the ornate architecture. There was no fighting in the heart of the city, or anywhere else, for that matter. Evidently Hackett had been correct when he'd said the Middle East had been well evacuated. That or the Reapers had already dominated this sector so completely that resistance was impossible.

But oddly enough, the quiet wasn't calming. If I could hear explosions and the pained metallic groans of the Reapers, see mortars dropping or gunshots firing, at least I knew humanity was fighting on and we had some chance, however small, of driving the Reapers back. The silence meant that there was no chance. No one was fighting, no one was resisting. They were either dead or subsumed by the enemy.

It makes a difference, believe it or not, walking into an open battlefield as opposed to being the one to start the fight. If there's already a battle in progress you can rush into the fray rather easily, comforted by the knowledge that you're not the first and won't be the last to throw your life into the hands of chance and danger. On the other hand, if you have allies that have already been beaten by your enemy and can't find the willpower or ability to rebel, the notion of restarting a fight that's already been lost becomes a bit disheartening.

"Well that's creepy," Troy remarked. Half the platoon stood on either side observing the scene in front of us while the other half waited back by the tanks for orders. Though there was an Alliance Major there commanding the unit, Hackett had given Garrus command of the troops seeing as he had the most experience fighting Reapers. The simple fact of his association with Shepard and his status within the turian military commanded respect from the soldiers despite not being human.

"So…do we have a plan?" I asked. "Because somehow I don't think we're gonna learn anything by asking nicely."

Garrus pulled the rifle off his back and checked its sights, then on to the clip. "Yeah." Then he marched down the hill without uttering a single word.

Troy, Adison and I exchanged looks, and Adison faced the troops massed behind us to motion them forward. Slowly we trudged onward, rifles in hand, confusion and the odd doubtful thought plaguing my mind as I stared at the two enormous death machines ahead of me.

What was Garrus keeping to himself? Why would Hackett send us on what was, as far as I could tell, a completely useless mission? Far be it for me to question military strategy seeing as everything I thought I knew was pretty much invalid, but still the thoughts lingered in my mind. If there was a reason for our presence in Jerusalem, someone should have at least had the courtesy to tell us what the hell it was. Even Adison and the Marines that accompanied him were clueless. All they knew was that Anderson had been in touch with Hackett and this was where they were supposed to be. No rhyme or reason.

And at the same time, I couldn't help thinking it really didn't matter. We were in this completely screwed up universe with no way out, no beforehand knowledge, and absolutely no reason to belong there. If we weren't on this mission, we'd just be elsewhere in the galaxy doing the same stupid shit. Only difference was we'd probably be running away from the Reapers rather than heading straight for them.

It's odd how when you get lost in thought you lose track of time as well. I think everyone's had that moment where you step out of your car and ask yourself "How the hell did I get here?" so it should come as little surprise that I asked myself the same thing when I nearly walked full-speed into an immobile Garrus.

I stumbled back a bit and snapped my focus to the moment, realizing that we had stopped just outside the city wall. When I looked up half of my field of vision was dominated by the nearest Reaper. Damn the things were big.

"Why haven't we been attacked yet?" one of the Alliance soldiers asked. I think it was the Major, the guy technically in charge of the other soldiers in the unit.

"I don't know," Garrus replied, scanning the walls for signs of movement. "The Reapers have to know we're here. It isn't like them to just ignore us."

"I got nothing on scanners," Troy said. "If there's anything moving within a hundred meters I should see it. No drones?"

"Probably don't need them," I answered. "Everyone ran when the Reapers landed. They might have thought ground troops were unnecessary."

"The Reapers are always prepared though. No matter what the situation they've always got a million ways to screw us over. There have to be drones around here somewhere."

"Can't be an ambush," Adison added. "They can't think we'd be stupid enough to fall for that."

"Why not?"

"Because why would we waltz right into the city with two of those massive things just poking around? There's no reason for them to think we were coming here, so there's no reason for them to set a trap."

"Unless they knew we were coming," I said. "Maybe they saw us drop out the damn shuttle and pulled all their drones in so they could hit us hard in the confines of the city." I looked at Garrus to see what he was thinking, but the man still eyed the city walls like he was looking for porn in the Bible. You think it has to be there because the book is so massive, but no matter how hard you look you never really find it.

"Maybe…" was all the turian uttered before he took off into the city.

"Is…he okay?" Adison asked as the Marines rushed past us.

My gaze followed Garrus's reflective armor down the city street, watching him scan each rooftop and check every alley he passed. "He seems focused," I said, "but I dunno. He's usually not so secretive."

"And you guys know this because you know him from the games?"

Have I mentioned how astonished I was that Adison was handling this so well? Aside from the odd comment about how convenient it was that we'd been dropped into one of our favorite game franchises—and one he never put more than a few hours into—there was a refreshing level of acceptance. Frankly, if we'd had to convince him this was real it probably would've made me doubt the whole fucking thing.

"He's a good guy," Troy answered without really answering. "There's just something weird going on. Come on, we'd better catch up if we want to find out what it is."

Without much further discussion, we followed. One of the tanks pounded on by alongside us while the other one trudged further ahead with Garrus and the rest of the Marines. The Reapers couldn't have possibly overlooked our presence, so if they gave a shit they definitely weren't doing anything about it.

Seeing Jerusalem in this state was almost depressing. There are a number of cities I'd always dreamed of visiting one day, but that was back in 2016 when my life was fairly stable and didn't involve galactic war. The ancient architecture was beautiful; the ornately decorated churches in particular caught my eye more than once. Always admired that about Eastern cultures. Religion had become so frowned upon and for good reason, but there's something to be said for people who chase more in life than the latest trends. I'm not saying we should all just turn our backs on civilization and devote ourselves to a monastic lifestyle, but when I look at certain Western cultures I don't see the condescending tone of disapproval we've come to associate with religion. I see people who are genuinely content with their lives, and when you see someone who has found real happiness that pervades every aspect of their society it encourages you to aspire to something more. More than the self-centeredness we consider normal. Perfection may not be within our reach, but happiness is something we can strive for.

And yet, to see it all in ruins made my chest swell with sadness. I gripped Invidium firmly in my armored gloves. No better way to drive away sadness than with anger.

We'd been treading slowly ahead for a good ten minutes before Garrus held his hand up in a fist, eyes scanning the perimeter. We were directly under one of the Reapers and the other was damn near at hand, so the actual mission part of this mission had to be coming up quick.

Just a bit quicker than I would've liked, actually.

The Reaper screamed, a guttural, metallic wail that made me wince just before the ground in front of us was torn apart by red light. Instinct kicked in, augmented by the adrenaline amplifiers of the new suit no doubt, forcing me back a good ten feet while the buildings to either side of us toppled to the ground in a plume of dust. Another salvo of laser fire laid waste to the tank behind us and in desperation I turned and ran into the nearest alley, making sure Troy and Adison were close behind.

What the hell had just happened? The Reapers suddenly changed their minds about having guests? I'm not sure which was worse: the fact that not attacking didn't make sense, or the fact that attacking didn't make sense. Either way, we ran further and further through the alleyways of the city, turning whenever the whim hit me and trying to avoid the crumbling buildings the Reapers were shooting down all around us.

"What the hell was that?" Troy yelled as we ran. I'm not sure how he even had the presence of mind to speak. All I could focus on was keeping my feet in front of me and not getting crushed by brick and mortar.

I heard someone's weapon discharge and realized it had to be Adison's. Not only was Veritas loud enough to blow out my eardrums, I doubted it would be effective in such confined spaces.

Then Marauders appeared from an intersection just ahead and I knew I was right. I hit the dirt hard, taking a few shots to my shields but not nearly as many as I would have if I'd been standing, and unloaded on the first abomination in sight. Violet blood showered the wall behind it so I can only assume Troy had gotten off a beautiful shot on the other one, and after I'd sufficiently drained the Marauder's shields I pulled the pistol from my side and fired a few more rounds at its head. Don't think I managed to actually hit it, but with the rifle and the pistol firing in conjunction it went down all the same.

"Come on," Adison said, lifting me back to my feet and taking charge of the group.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"I dunno. Aren't you guys the ones who are friends with the big monster guy?"

Fuck! Garrus! Why the hell hadn't we heard anything on the comms?

I hit the auricular switch on my helmet to open the channel, but received only static for my efforts. Then I tried listening on all frequencies. Same result.

"Comms are down," I said. "Reapers must be jamming us."

"Can they do that?" Troy asked. "In the games people were always using the comms, never seemed to matter."

"This isn't the games anymore," I replied.

Well, that was disheartening. Way to go, Donovan, make a shitty situation even shittier. I'm proud.

"So we pop smoke," Adison said, detaching a canister from his chestpiece and popping the top off with his thumb. "Find a good place to hold out and wait for the others."

"Wait for what? We don't even know what the fucking mission is! They might not come back for us!"

"Dude, it's Garrus," Troy refuted. "He'll come back."

 _FUCK!_ _Why don't I believe that?_

"Fine," I breathed. "Adison, you're the cop. We'll follow your lead."

He nodded and swapped the clip out in his gun. "I'll take point. Troy, you're in the middle. Keep an eye on that scanner and call out locations. Donz, bring up the rear, keep them off our backs."

"Got it," Troy replied.

"Keep close guys."

And we were off again. I lost track of our position relative to where the initial assault had occurred not long after our first skirmish, so hopefully Adison had kept track or else we'd be lost in the massive city. Turn after turn, fight after fight, we progressed until Adison spotted a building that the Reapers had already halfway blown apart. It easily stood ten stories high; not high enough to survey the entire city, but we were at a high point in the city's terrain so it gave us a good view of the alleys leading to it. Troy went up top on lookout detail, I found a place roughly halfway up the building, and after sending up the smoke signal Adison stood guard down below to keep drones from reaching us. While two walls and the majority of the roof no longer existed, the stairwell remained mostly intact and there was just enough mortar left to take cover if the need arose. In the rare instance that one of us became compromised, we'd simply move up or down a level and repeat the process any time we came under heavy fire.

I can't remember how long we held that building or how many times I saw the Reaper firing its cannon and thought we would be obliterated. Troy wasn't picking up any friendlies on the scanner, but we could hear gunshots in the distance and the Reaper was obviously shooting at someone other than us. The only thing I could do to stay sane was focus on the drones that presented themselves and try not to die. Much easier said than done. I took a few slugs that the automated medi-gel dispenser patched up well enough, but after you've been shot so many times you start to realize that eventually you won't be able to fix them all.

And where in the hell did the Reapers get all their ground troops? I lost count after putting down about a dozen Cannibals, Marauders and Husks, and I knew the guys had to be doing better than me. Add to that the fact that Garrus was probably still out there kicking ass and some of the Marines might be with him. Yet the drones still came. You'd think that after the first fifty or so troops lost they'd realize we had them funneling into a killzone, but they continued their attempt to take us down. Thankfully the spot Adison had chosen was accessible only via the two narrow alleys on either side, otherwise the drones could've just shown up in force and ended the fight easily. As it was, they were going to have to bleed us dry. I almost would've preferred a "get it over with" scenario.

But on the other hand, if I was going to die fighting the Reapers without knowing what the fuck was going on in this universe, I was going to take out as many of them as I could along the way. Yeah, screw quick and quiet. If I'm going down, I'm taking all you fuckers with me.

I was almost beginning to feel good about being resigned to death when I saw a bluish blur at the very edge of my line of sight. Being surrounded by brick, clay, and mortar all of a very earthy color, the sheen of biotic manipulation was pretty easy to spot.

"We got a Banshee!" Troy yelled from his vantage point, a piercing shot subsequently telling us we needed to get our focus off whatever it was on and start throwing some serious shit towards the omen of impending death.

The thing was hideous. I know we've all seen them before, but as with everything I'd seen lately, coming face to face with such a perversion nearly made me hurl. I levelled my gun at the monster, firing away to no avail. It teleported every few seconds, and on the rare occasion that I had it in my sights the bullets hit its barrier like pellets against a concrete wall. Not even a dent.

The other drones were closing in. We'd all shifted our focus so completely to the Banshee that crowd control had gone out the window and Cannibals were swarming because of it. If I peered out of cover for a second my shields dropped instantly, riddled by countless Reaper slugs.

This was it. We were going down, no fighting it. The only choice was whether to go out at the Banshee's hands or the Cannibals. Bullets, or biotics and possibly spiky claws? I'd been shot before and was growing accustomed to the feeling, whereas being flayed or skewered alive wasn't something I wanted to try.

 _Bullets it is, then._

I stood to my feet and ran to the staircase, thinking that I could head down and help Adison fend of the drones at the doorway. Troy was probably the smartest one out of us all, so maybe we could buy him some time to think up a way out of this. At the very least, he was the most deadly with that rifle, so he could take more drones out.

But halfway down the stairs I noticed the drones were uncharacteristically inaccurate. I hit cover at the next floor down but didn't hear any gunshots, aside from Troy's rifle still firing from the top floor.

I couldn't believe what I saw when I peered outside. All the drones just stood there immobile, weapons down and apparently in no danger of being fired. Even the Banshee had stopped its ominous journey towards our holdout location and drooped over like a depressed giraffe. Were they giving up?

Another shot rang out from Troy and I saw a Cannibal go down in a red cloud of blood.

"Troy, stop shooting!" Adison yelled from below.

"Why? We can't take advantage of their sudden retardation?"

"We don't know what's happening!"

"Yeah that's kinda the point! They probably don't either and it might not last long, so let's take as many of the fuckers out while we can!"

Then one of the most terrifying moments of my life happened. The same dark metallic groan of the Reaper sounded off again, but not in an inaudible shout inspiring horror and dread.

It actually spoke.

" _You._ "

I looked up at the thing almost expecting it to look back at me. If Reapers had eyes I'm sure it might have, but in reality all it did was point a glowing red orifice in our general direction.

 _"_ _You are not like the others. Possessing knowledge and expectations that do not belong. Your very existence does not belong."_

Um…okay? How the hell do you respond to something like that? How the hell do you respond to anything when it comes from a friggin Reaper? And while I'm at it, why would a Reaper stop in the middle of a fight just to talk? Did it want to insult us? Pour salt in the wound? If it just wanted to tell us how inferior we were and that we were so incapable of understanding their existence I'd have rather just kept fighting.

"The fuck do you want?" Troy yelled.

"T!" Adison chided. A wasted effort. He didn't know the extent of the Reapers' brutality like we did or their arrogance, so he didn't understand that we'd pretty much accepted the fact that we'd lost this one.

But strangely enough, the Reaper didn't just incinerate us on the spot.

 _"_ _You are an anomaly. We have monitored the development of this cycle for fifty thousand years, as we have for each cycle before it. The species of this cycle developed in a predictable pattern according to our desires. You are less developed, and yet…somehow more so."_

This was unbelievable. I know I've said that a lot; meeting Shepard was unbelievable. Being a passenger in the Normandy was unbelievable. Fighting Reapers on the Citadel was unbelievable. And coming back to earth to go back for more may have been the stupidest, most unbelievable thing yet. But talking to a Reaper? God could have smitten them all or turned them into kittens at that point and I wouldn't have been surprised.

"What do you want from us?" Adison asked. A futile question; something about being incapable of understanding or our overall uselessness was surely the response.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" I asked rhetorically. "We're incapable of understanding, right? Just primitive organics who can't even begin to fathom the nature of your existence."

 _"_ _Organics are not incapable of understanding, merely accepting. But you are more capable than most."_

Oh. Well, that was unexpected.

"Sovereign told us we wouldn't understand," Troy replied. "That your reasons are so far beyond anything we're able to conceive."

 _"_ _Nazara was constructed from the ashes of the Prothean Empire, a race more savage and totalitarian than any existing in this cycle. The views of the protheans were a part of it. Arrogance does not become us."_

What…the hell? This wasn't right. Sovereign and Harbinger were always so uppity, and here this thing was telling us we might actually be able to understand their reasoning? Forget the fact that we knew their reasons (assuming we were still correct about the Leviathan theory), the thing should be telling us how incompetent we were and that killing us would be doing us a favor. The fact that it was behaving so contrary to the standard of Reaper attitudes didn't exactly set my nerves at ease.

"So tell us what you want," Adison demanded.

 _"_ _Desire is irrelevant. Objectives are not. Our goals should be the goals of any who claim to have obtained a modicum of wisdom. We exist to ensure the continuation of this universe, an idea that has been in peril since the dawn of its creation."_

"Right, right," Troy mocked. "You're protecting organics from their own synthetic creations. Keeping us alive by wiping out the species capable of creating artificial intelligence and leaving the more primitive ones. How's that working out for you guys?"

 _"_ _Foolish creature. You have seen but a glimpse of our nature and claim to understand it. Your preconceived notions are but one of an infinite number of possibilities. We do not exist to conquer and destroy, but to preserve. Destruction shall occur whether it is by your hand or that of the universe. It is inevitable."_

So we'd been wrong about the Catalyst after all, assuming the thing was telling the truth. They weren't trying to preserve organic life, just the existence of the universe. It sounded like they believed something similar to a Big Crunch theory was imminent and they had to do something to stop it. They were ensuring their own survival.

"So you're saying the universe is going to be destroyed?" I asked for clarification.

"What, you actually believe this fucking toaster?" Troy chided.

 _"_ _Your belief is irrelevant. All that you know is nothing but wind and silence. You form rationalizations and justifications grounded in a lack of evidence and consider it proof. We have no desire to obtain your trust, nor is it necessary."_

"Then why are we talking right now?" Adison asked.

 _"_ _In an effort to ease the process of this transition. Should you find the ability to understand and accept our motivations, our objective may be achieved more swiftly. We must take action, or risk everything we have cultivated throughout the eons."_

"But we have time, right? The universe isn't going to end right now, is it?"

 _"_ _Ignorant children. Time as you perceive it is merely a concept to assist organic life in understanding the way of the universe. You measure is as if it is simply a trifle. You count your lifespans with it, plan your actions around it. You attempt to control it because you are powerless to stop it. That which has no beginning and no end is an impossibility. You cannot control what does not exist."_

"But you just said—"

 _"_ _The universe will end. This is not due to the imaginary construct of time. It simply, is. And like your attempts to control that which does not exist, attempting to avert this catastrophe will also end in failure."_

"So why are you doing this?" I yelled, more due to the fact that I was agitated than because I actually wanted to know the truth. "Why are you wiping out organics every fifty thousand years? If the universe is doomed to destroy itself why do you care what species are allowed to live and when?"

 _"_ _ **You**_ _are unable to change the future._ _ **We**_ _are not."_

I swear my heart stopped for a solid ten seconds. What he was implying…it was insane! Not only was he trying to tell us their whole reason for the cycles was because the universe was going to implode, but that they were really the good guys trying to stop that from happening? No. No way this shit was real.

"And how do you intend to stop the end of the universe?" Adison asked, one last desperate volley at the storm of insanity the Reaper was throwing at us.

 _"_ _The manipulation of dark energy over the course of many millennia has weakened the fabric of our reality. Only an equally powerful reaction will reverse the damage dealt. We have come each cycle in search of a primitive species capable of ascending to our status while retaining their natural abilities. We are incapable of dark matter manipulation. You are not."_

 _Oh my God…_

If I was right, he'd just told us how we'd gotten there. Continual use of biotics since the dawn of time had ripped the fabric of space-time, distorting reality by throwing us into a parallel universe.

Furthermore, he'd just revealed what their true motives were behind the cycles. They were looking for powerful enough biotics to undo countless years of what was essentially environmental decay on a galactic level. Every time someone opened up a warp field or fired a mass accelerator or jumped to FTL they'd thrown another pebble in the dam, taking us one step further to the end of reality.

I don't know why I believed the thing, but somehow it made sense. Maybe it was just me wanting to believe in something—anything—other than the Catalyst's explanation, or maybe it seemed for once like a Reaper was actually levelling with us. Whatever the reason, it clicked.

Even when Troy asked the final question of the conversation, it clicked.

"So what do you want from us?"

The glowing red orb that had remained unwaveringly steady the entire time finally faltered, like a puppy averting its owner's gaze knowing it had done something wrong.

 _"_ _Your genetic material is necessary to bring this cycle to fruition. We will bring about your ascendance, and should the worst come to pass, we will wait for the next cycle. This is the way it has always been. If our plans never succeed, this is how it will always be until the end comes. No atter what the outcome, your sacrifice is for a noble purpose. Necessity dictates that in the end, you will be nothing but dust and ashes."_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Okay, this is the part I've been dreading. I mean I had loads of fun writing this last scene in particular, but I've been walking on glass for the last two weeks writing this chapter wondering if you guys would like the idea or not. Guess we'll wait and see. I'm pretty happy with the result, and it leaves plenty open for interpretation down the road which is good because we've got a lot of story left. I basically took one of Drew Karpyshyn's original ideas for the series and added a few twists of my own, some of which you'll have to wait and see :)

 **Toothless is best:** Yeah, happens unfortunately :X

 **general-joseph-dickson:** Yeah that was one of the things I hated about the games, particularly 2 and 3. Here you've got this huge group of people that are ultra-badass soldiers and a few of whom would actually make decent leaders, and you're only using two of them? (Nix the gratuitous Suicide Mission at the end of ME2) I don't intend to bring Shepard's entire crew into the cast, but a few awesome people that deserve to be there will be.

 **Jim:** Glad you enjoy it! When I started this project I had three goals in mind: create compelling characters, come up with a new motivation for the Reapers, and don't get caught in the trap of just tailing Shepard along through the events of ME3. My first ME SI which I have no intention of posting here had us (Troy, Adison, and Donovan) basically just assisting Shep in speeding along the process of gathering war assets and preparing for the final confrontation. It was good enough I suppose, but being able to create this world where so many aspects are already well-established is a fun way to write. I keep the core elements of the series close at hand but obliterate all the things I hated about the story. Hopefully my version of things is something you guys can get into.

So, that's all I got. At this point I pretty much have to stop promising regular updates. With my schedule weekends are really the only time I have to write, which sucks ass because it's also the only time I get to hang out with friends and family. Priorities. Rest assured, however, I will still be writing and I definitely will finish the story, it might just be a minute between updates.

So as always, thank you guys for the faves, follows, and reviews, and look out for next chapter! Hate Harbinger? Well, you're about to get to know Arbiter.

He doesn't like you.

*Evil snickering*


	7. Chapter 7

You think the strangest things when you're on the verge of death. Telling you this may cause you to question my sanity, but I've been close to the endless dark more times than I'd like, even before I found myself in the middle of a galactic war. There's no bright light like the movies visualize it, no inviting music to welcome you, no feeling of sweet relief as your body lies there a breath away from the end.

There's just black.

You can stare at it, and you can try to wish it away, but it just stares back at you like a broken mirror. No matter what you put in front of it, the image always greets you in an incoherent fashion that numbs your mind if you look at it too long. In that space, the only things that exist are your thoughts and that empty vacuum sucking them all up without an iota of reciprocity.

The first time I was dying, I was actually mad. Not mad because I had so much to live for or because the blame rested on someone else's shoulders; rather it was because I'd expected so much from the afterlife and all I got was an unending wall of darkness in every direction. Really, we spend all our years dealing with the shit we have to deal with and our only escape from it is to be trapped in a paradoxical state of nonexistence with only our thoughts to keep us company? Fuck that.

The second time I'd been dying was in Vancouver, when Daniels patched up the gash in my abdomen. The black wasn't so bad then. It barely lasted a few seconds (at least in my frame of mind) and afterwards I was up on my feet shooting Reapers like it had never happened.

The third time was the real kicker. I knew it was coming so it really wasn't as much of a shock when I suddenly found myself looking down at a starless sky. It's disorienting the first time, maybe even the second. Kind of like going underwater for a long period of time and swimming toward the surface, only to find that your idea of the surface actually led you further into the depths. Panic sets in and your lungs constrict, increasing your heart rate which automatically releases adrenaline, and before you know it you're flailing in every direction in a frantic effort to get out of the water.

Only difference is, in this case there was no getting out of the water. Either you learn to hold your breath indefinitely, or accept that you're destined to metaphorically drowning. Unless the situation demands that I swim or I have some incredible motivation, I've always been more of a drowner.

 _So if all that has meant the most to me isn't present after my last breath, count me with the fallen sheep and send me to the depths._

Of course, there I was in my edge-of-death state pumping out BAAO lyrics. It would only be fitting if I'd stayed there for the rest of eternity mentally reciting lyrics, poetry, entire episodes of RvB from memory or the script of Napoleon Dynamite. To this day I can speak all the lines of that movie verbatim, minus maybe a quote or two. Regardless, I had kicked the unlucky bucket for good this time. No medic to save me, no fuck-ups on my part to hinder a process I'd put to action, as had been the case with my first near-death experience. This was it.

I expected hell, to be honest, although different people have very different ideas of what hell is. Could be an actual fiery dungeon of agony and tormented souls, or it could be this insanity-inducing isolation. I didn't care either way really, because for all intents and purposes this _was_ hell, whether literally or not we can leave to the philosophers and religious folks. At the very least give me a Gameboy and Pokemon Yellow to pass the time.

I wondered if Troy and Adison were dead or dying as well. There wasn't much to remember aside from the Reaper's ridiculous yet somehow plausible explanation for their existence and a flash of red light just after telling us we were going to die. Asshole.

No matter how many rationalizations I came up with to explain the Reaper's actions, I couldn't find anything to satisfy my curiosity. Nothing could explain why it had wanted us to see its point of view before being disintegrated. Was it just fate being cruel by explaining that nothing was as we thought in this universe and then robbing us of the ability to go searching for the truth? Seemed possible. Life hates me, so why should it do me any favors now?

It would've been easy for me to get lost in there. Every now and again I thought I heard something from the outside world, but that could have very well been my imagination. Was I dead yet, or just at the tip of the end zone? _Just hurry up and get it over with. I can't take the boredom anymore!_

Shepard crossed my mind, as well as her crew and Hackett. Garrus. How would they fare now that I knew this was a different reality than I'd seen in the games? How would they stop the Reapers and, more importantly if the evil machines were being truthful, the end of the universe? Any time Liara crushed someone with her mind she was taking us one step closer to the edge.

 _And I'm about to break!_

More lyrics, this time from one of the favorite songs of my childhood. I wondered if Linkin' Park or Being As An Ocean even existed in this reality. I wondered if _I_ existed in this reality prior to being thrown into it from another one. When you think about it, the possibilities of there being duplicates of someone in an alternate reality are pretty slim. I mean you've got thousands of years of possibilities to screw up, and even one screw-up results in you not being born years down the line. Hell, for all I knew I could exist as an alien here. A bit of a stretch, that, but you see my point.

More noises from beyond the veil. _Just shut up and let me go already! It's pretty damn obvious I can't do any good here._

It felt like days passed while I stared at the infinite darkness. You know how when you wake up it's almost as if no time has passed whatsoever? Completely opposite effect here I'm sure. But then, when you're dead what's the point in keeping track of time? Like the Reaper said, time isn't exactly an object, it's simply a fictitious scale we've developed to measure change and explain why our bodies decay. In all consideration there likely is no such thing as time. Just the forces of evolution and decay.

Years passed. Not literally, because I'd already established that time wasn't real, but nothing was developing and nothing was decaying aside from my patience and sanity. Technically when something refuses to change it is by definition dead, so maybe I'd spend the rest of my nonexistence like this. God the universe is a cruel place.

I'd almost given up all hope of retaining what little sanity I had left when the spread of noises I'd been hearing for so long finally condensed into an intelligible form. At first I thought it was just a stray thought from my dying mind, but I was still coherent enough to realize that the voice in my head doesn't usually sound like the tortured moan of a garbage compactor.

 _"The end has not come for you yet…"_

If I hadn't been completely numb to emotion from the endless boredom I probably would have felt a tinge of uneasiness, but as things stood I was completely free of that burden. The only things that plagued me were the facts.

Fact #1: I was dying from being shot to death by Reaper fire, likely incinerated beyond all hope of recovery.

Fact #2: The dying process was taking far too long.

Fact #3: The aforementioned insanity-inducing length of my death was causing me to associate fantasy with reality, specifically the last thing I remembered before entering the dark. That strange chat with the Reaper was so impressed upon my mind that I was creating a different version of it as I lay dying.

So, all things considered, I had the freedom to do whatever the hell I wanted.

"You here to mock me?" I rang out. Even without a corporeal form my voice echoed so strongly in my head I was sure I was probably speaking in the real world. "Well go ahead and do it! Get it over with! As if I don't know I'm fucking useless!"

 _"Shadows cloud your mind like breath in a mirror,"_ the voice replied in a harsh tone. _"You seek to achieve the impossible all the while knowing it is unattainable. Why?"_

"Trying to understand me now?" I asked, making a mockery of what actually seemed like a sincere question. "What happened? I became interesting just because I'm not afraid to die? Is that why you really do all this, to glean some satisfaction from the terror you produce in destroying the galaxy?"

 _"Long before your existence was even conceivable, we labored to prevent its extinction. We have witnessed events so insignificant it could be said they did not even occur, yet the course of the universe shifted because of them. The galaxy should hold no mysteries from us, yet you stand in contradiction to this idea. Never before have we been presented with such a unique opportunity."_

Was this thing actually complementing me? It spoke with the same ceaseless arrogance as Sovereign and Harbinger, but it wasn't demanding my obedience or droning on about its supremacy. Instead it saw me as a tool to be used.

I'd completely lost sight of whether this was a figment of my imagination or the same Reaper I'd spoken to in Jerusalem. I suppose that's only natural when you're dying, but the thought that I was actually somewhat lucid and still having a conversation with the damn thing took my attitude to a far less carefree place. It could only be talking to me for one reason: there was some purpose to be served in letting me live. Maybe even an alternative to galactic genocide.

Well, that or it wanted to indoctrinate me and turn me into a spy. Either way, I wasn't exactly pressed for time, and I couldn't physically walk away from the conversation. Fuck it.

"What do you want from me?" I asked after considering my options.

 _"Cooperation. We have sought a solution to the coming destruction since the dawn of our existence, yet we have only ever considered one possibility. For longer than you can fathom, we have conquered the species of this galaxy in an effort to save those who came after them. Our attention has been singularly devoted, setting aside all other courses of action. The day has come for us to explore new possibilities."_

"You want to try something other than your original plan?" I asked for clarification. "I thought converting us to Reaper form and hoping it would create a biotic Reaper was the only way?"

 _"Perhaps. But the end is fast approaching. Our method has shown not a sign of progress since its inception. It is far better to exhaust all options. In the event that we are unsuccessful, we can rest peacefully with the knowledge that despite our greatest efforts, the destruction of the universe was simply out of our control."_

I don't know if I was physically incapable of connecting the dots right away or not, but it took me several long moments to understand and then question what the little shit was telling me.

It actually wanted to save the universe? Too good and completely fucked up to be true. That's how it always is with villains, right? They all say they're working for the greater good when in reality they don't even believe that. It's just a line they use to confuse the lesser-minded individuals opposed to their ideal. And then you have the even worse form: a villain who legitimately believes he's doing good by fucking everyone else over. The Reapers didn't strike me as being quite stupid enough to qualify as the latter, though.

Damn. Damn! There's no other way to express how confused and sympathetic I felt in that moment. On one hand, these were the fucking Reapers! The evil, soulless machines that annihilated organics every fifty thousand years because of a bad programming error. And on the other hand, I didn't get the feeling that it was lying to me. It actually seemed to have a genuine desire to save the universe, and I was willing to get behind any plan that didn't involve wiping out all the fictional characters I'd come to know and love.

Of course, that was all assuming this was real and not just my mind converting everything to my liking. Even then, if my mind had made all this up, why debate it? And if it was all real, wouldn't it be better to take a chance on the existence of an alternative? No Catalyst, no Crucible, no other conceivable way of saving the galaxy. This might be our one shot.

Fuck my life, I actually agreed with the damn thing.

"Okay," I conceded, mentally kicking myself a dozen times. "What's the other solution?"

 _"That is for you to determine."_

Then the black turned blindingly white.

* * *

I was alive after all. Three lives down, six to go.

A cigarette would've been nice. It had been at least a full day since I'd had one and I was long overdue according to my normal schedule. Add to that the amount of stress I was under and the complete lack of any enjoyable activities to make up for it and it came down to an overwhelming urge to smoke and grab a beer. Normally I don't get urges, but I suppose the circumstances warranted it. Given the amount of pain and stress currently ravaging my body and mind I probably could've used a bit of the good stuff to mellow me out too.

It's weird to me that sometimes when I regain consciousness my mind can be at full readiness despite not knowing what the fuck is going on while other times I can barely find the energy to string together a single thought. Maybe I hadn't even been asleep. Maybe everything had actually happened and I just remembered it as a dream because all other sensory input just faded into the background while a Reaper decided to have a conversation with me. That's weird too, isn't it? We've lived our entire lives understanding existence strictly with what we see and hear that it's easy to overlook what happens beyond what we're capable of perceiving. For example how does a blind person know when they're asleep or awake? How does a deaf person know when something's happening beyond their field of vision if they can't hear it?

How do you make sense of reality when everything you perceive could be only an illusion?

 _All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream._

I guess you just have to make the best of it and hope that whatever situation presents itself should be acted upon. So with that said, I had to get off my ass and figure out what the hell I needed to do.

A burning itch gnawed at the inside of my throat and I relieved it momentarily with a heaving cough. Okay, nicotine would have to wait. I'd just been shot at by a Goddamn Reaper. First thing on the list was to make sure Troy and Adison were okay and get the fuck out of Jerusalem in whatever way possible. If Garrus and any of the Marines were still in action, they'd probably be doing the same thing, mission be damned.

I wasn't wounded, at least not as much as I expected to be. The half dozen or so bullet holes were still there patched uneasily by medi-gel, but my armor was mostly intact and unsinged by Reaper cannon fire. That was a plus. Still, the thing loomed ominously overhead and I didn't want to go another round with that lazer.

Invidium lay on the ground next to me covered in rubble so I snatched it up and yelled my cousins' names at the top of my lungs. Something along the lines of instinct was driving my actions more than any intelligent decision, so there was no use questioning why my motivation was so singularly clear. It just was.

Get Troy, get Adison, get the fuck out.

Every bone in my body ached, every muscle was on fire, and every inch of my skin itched and irritated me with every motion. Odd considering the fact that I was in full body armor and didn't seem to have suffered any massive injuries, aside from the aforementioned gunshots. Those, thankfully enough, I can say were more or less numbed completely by the stimulants coursing through my veins. Another advantage of futuristic armor.

Though I knew exactly where I was it seemed as if I was lost. I spun in every direction looking for an exit, for the stairwell that would lead me to Troy at the top and Adison at the bottom, but it didn't exist anymore. Dust and rubble littered the battleground in such a vast amount that I wondered if the Reapers hadn't torn down the entire city, leaving nothing but the three of us intact. At least, I hoped Troy and Adison were okay. Or they were experiencing whatever condition this was that made me feel okay despite the massive physical trauma I'd just undergone.

Or had I? The bullets were certainly very real and the fight I remembered quite clearly, but what the hell happened afterward? The Reaper had us dead to rights, literally. Why hadn't it pulled the trigger?

 _Fuck it. No thought, just get out._

"ADISON!" I screamed. "TROY!" It sounded muted in my ears but when I become oblivious to my own voice it can pack quite a punch, so I knew they would be able to hear me even if they were as deafened as I was. My plan (or lack thereof) was dependent on the fact that they would be slightly more lucid than me and could put together a better course of action than "get the fuck out of here."

Everything was a blur. No logic or sensibility to it whatsoever. I guess when you go through a devastating event like that some trauma-induced stress is to be expected, but I couldn't come to grips with any of it. It's like when someone's trying to explain advanced trigonometry to you before you've even begun basic algebra. You think all that exists to math is numbers and simple equations, then you're greeted with letters and symbols that look as if they belong on an alien spaceship. Which, in all honesty, that applied here as well, but you get my point. My mind was racing, trying to imagine everything as I had known it rather than how it was. I was still expecting to find Troy up in his sniper's nest when clearly the entire building was dust, and my mind couldn't reconcile the two. Was the entire city like this?

Oddly enough, physically I was beginning to feel fine. In fact I felt like I could lift a car and probably scoured through several tons of debris in my brain's feeble attempt to feel useful. The medi-gel and stimulants were certainly doing their job.

It dawned on me then that I might still be in danger. We'd been fighting the Reaper before…well, before whatever the hell just happened, and seeing as it possibly tried to kill us it may have also powered the drones back on for clean-up duty. I held Invidium up firmly against my shoulder, one finger down the trigger, one eye down the scope and the other peering in the distance for activity, turning in a clockwise motion to survey my surroundings like I'd been taught. The HUD on my visor didn't show any nearby hostiles, but if there's one thing I've learned from years of playing video games it's that sensors can be easily tricked. My eyes were still the best form of surveillance.

Still, they showed me nothing aside from the heaps of sand and mortar strewn with steel and glass that used to be a city. The destruction spread for miles in every direction.

No danger aside from the kilometers-tall death machines looming above us. If they knew I was alive, they didn't seem to care.

"Donz?"

I spun quickly with Invidium only to realize a split-second later it was Adison. Instinct works faster than rational thought when you've got so much adrenaline pumping through your body.

"Adison," I said, lowering the weapon. "You're alive. What the hell just happened?"

He stood in his armor, as broken and mangled as mine no doubt looked, two of his weapons missing. The blast did a number on him as well.

"You tell me. You're supposed to know all this stuff, right?"

"Pretty much everything I know about Mass Effect is pointless now that we just got shot by a fucking Reaper. We need to find Troy."

"Right. That's probably his gun I hear."

"Gun?" I strained my ears to listen, but all I heard was a mechanical whoosh and that high-pitched ringing that usually follows an intensely loud concert.

"You don't hear that?"

"Sorry man, ears are kinda fucked right now. I'm following you."

"No need. Sounds like he's coming to us."

With that Adison raised his rifle and pointed it to my right, the same direction the Reapers appeared to be moving off to. I really didn't see the point in trying to anticipate something I literally couldn't see—or hear—coming, but seeing as we were in the middle of a warzone I lifted my gun and sighted it downrange as if I was actually ready to shoot something.

 _Is it just me, or are you really nonchalant about this whole being-at-war situation?_

I had almost answered myself when the world before me turned to chaos. I still couldn't hear very well, but when an explosion takes place ten feet in front of you it's kind of hard to miss. My body forced me back as heat and shrapnel rushed me and before I had time to make sense of anything, it all came to me in full force.

I heard gunshots. I felt smoke burning my lungs. My eyes stung with dirt and dust.

 _Dammit, this is the last thing I need._

My feet held their ground even while the rest of my body ran around in complete pandemonium, and as my fading senses found their way back to me I felt a surge of energy. My hearing kicked in and my eyes snapped wide—thank God for adrenal stimulants and armor-integrated medical assistance—and in less than two seconds I was ready for action.

The debris from the explosion settled and I ran forward, ignoring Adison's yells for me to be cautious.

Have you ever seen _300_? The first one, not the shitty sequel. There's a scene in the movie where the Spartans are holding out against the Persians and you can see this completely endless army of ancient soldiers spread out for miles. Granted this was no Persian army of a million men, but that's what it felt like when I stepped through the smoke and saw the Reaper drones that dotted every inch of space in my field of vision. Well, every inch but one.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!" Troy yelled as he climbed up the rubble to the position Adison and I held. The shots of Reaper drones followed after him and I tackled both of us to the ground, scurrying for any protection we could find. A small mound of what used to be building looked good enough, so we went flat on our backs using the rubble as a headrest. I've had more uncomfortable pillows, believe it or not.

"Well, least we know you're okay," I breathed.

"Yeah, fuckin' peachy," Troy replied, popping the heat sink in Veritas. "What the hell happened to you two? After the Reaper blew us to shit I figured we'd all be dead."

"You were alive enough to think yet you thought we'd be dead," Adison jokingly mocked. "Nice logic there, T."

"Dude you know what I mean. We look like we just survived a ground zero nuclear explosion."

"You guys would know better than me," I said. "I think I just woke up."

"Woke up? What were you taking a fucking nap? We're in some pretty deep shit here!"

"Yeah and speaking of that," Adison added, firing blind shots over his cover, "we might wanna focus on not dying right now, guys."

I peeked up over cover for a split second to try to get a read on our situation, but a few dozen bullets alerted me to the fact that drones had already made it to our position.

"Yeah not gonna get a shot off in this heat."

"I got it," Adison replied as he tossed a canister over his head. A few seconds later a concussion rocked the debris pile and hissed like a snake preparing to strike. "We've got cover, take 'em!"

In all honesty I was surprised my instincts were working so well to my advantage. I flipped over onto my stomach and levelled Invidium across my cover, firing blindly into the cloud of smoke that emanated from Adison's grenade. As far as I knew, none of our helmets had thermal optics so we were firing blindly into the mess, but when you've got three guys shooting in one direction you're bound to hit something. A few drones stumbled out of the disorientation and were gunned down within seconds.

"Guys, I got something on radar," Troy informed us.

"Friendlies?" Adison asked. "Where?"

"Um…above us?"

I nearly laughed in joy when I looked up and saw flames in the sky. Shuttles maybe—hopefully—dropping down from the atmosphere. Then my joy was subverted by shock and fear when a beam of red light began methodically dropping them out of the sky.

"Dammit!" I yelled. "Can't we catch a fucking break?!"

I think that was the first time I was pleasantly surprised by what happened next. Another beam pierced the sky, headed for another one of our descending reinforcements, but in mid-shot the laser veered off and missed its target by a huge margin. How in the hell had a Reaper missed?

The answer was simple: it was attacked.

The explanation for that answer was not so simple. I looked back towards the battlefield and saw one Reaper firing at the other, presumably the one that had been shooting down our allies. This in turn caused a wave of confusion amongst the drones, and in just a few seconds they too had begun attacking each other.

I blinked several times just to make sure I was seeing it right.

 _What the fuck is happening?!_

We didn't even have to fire a shot. Once the reality hit us that the Reapers were at full-on war with each other, we stood there on our mound of rubble watching the scene with dropped jaws. Banshees, Cannibals and Marauders turned the battlefield into a haze of carnage right before our eyes while the two Reapers exchanged blasts of red energy. And as if shooting each other wasn't enough, one of them launched itself into the air and came crashing down on top of the other, clawing and getting off point-blank shots with its cannons. I'd never seen a Reaper fight so savagely.

The ground shook from the impact of the Reaper's jump attack, and we barely had time to let it settle before sand and wind whipped at us from all sides. Funny, to them it must have seemed like kicking over an ant mound.

And then I realized that the tremors weren't caused solely by the Reapers, although that was probably a huge part of it. I swiped at my visor to try to get a clear view again, and lifted my gun in anticipation when a hulking, shadowy form made its way towards us through the sandstorm.

"Heh, so someone survived after all," a low, gravelly voice emanated from the figure.

Urdnot Grunt stepped forward.

"You're fucking kidding me," Troy breathed. I think it was more a statement of elation rather than dismay, but at that point none of us had the constitution to show any kind of positive emotion.

"Come on, humans," Grunt commanded, easily standing nine feet tall in his shiny silver armor. "Alliance isn't done with you yet."

"Wait, this is a rescue mission?" Adison asked. "What about the rest of the unit? There were thirty other guys with us, they can't all be—"

"We don't have time to stand around here chatting, meatbag," Grunt interrupted, waving his enormous shotgun carelessly. "The turian and anyone else that survived are already on a shuttle. We better do the same if we want to get out of this pit."

Adison, Troy and I exchanged a look, each of us wondering what the hell was happening but also knowing we didn't have any other choice. Reapers had lured us into the city, attacked us seemingly for no reason, had a conversation with me—possibly. I was still iffy on all that—and then turned on each other, threatening to take us out via collateral damage. If Grunt and a handful of krogan wanted to drop out of the sky and rescue us, it was far from the craziest thing that had happened.

"You guys know what I'm thinking," I told my cousins. "We stay here, we're dead. We can ask questions later, for now I say fuck it, let's get out of here."

"What about our mission?" Adison asked. "Hackett sent us here for a reason."

"And Garrus was the only one who knew what the reason was," Troy added. "And he's already on a shuttle. So if there's any logical course of action here, it's to regroup and try to figure out what the FUCK is happening."

Grunt scoffed and quickly pointed his shotgun to my left, taking out a stray Husk that had made it's way to us. "Glad we're all agreed," he stated sarcastically. "Now follow me, evac's on the other side of the city."

* * *

Eden Prime. It had been three years since Ella had been there last. Back then all she'd gotten to see was a paradise burning and the revelation of a monstrosity. She'd lost Jenkins and Nihlus, not to mention the countless farmers and settlers who fell to the geth; or worse, been turned into perversions of humanity.

It was where she'd met Ash. Terrified at first, but after steeling her resolve, nothing got in her way. They'd fought through a battalion of Saren's soldiers and shut down four explosive payloads before finally reaching the beacon that served as the galaxy's only warning against the Reapers. A warning that went unheard even after Sovereign attacked the Citadel in full force.

Yet through all of it, Ash and the rest of the crew had always been by Ella's side. They'd probably seen more action that year than they had in all of their careers combined. The friendships forged under that kind of duress are often the strongest a person will ever have the pleasure of experiencing.

Eden Prime was where they'd had Ash's ceremony. One of them, at least. Seeing as there were no remains to bury after she sacrificed herself on Virmire, Ash's family had hosted a private service back on earth. The Alliance had officially recognized her valor here on Eden Prime, where she first showed her outstanding courage and resilience. Ella had been the one to pass the Purple Heart to Ash's family. Twenty-one gun salute, parade into the city. The way a Marine should go.

Speeches were given by Alliance Brass, including Hackett and Anderson. They'd wanted Ella to give one as well, but she couldn't. Not in front of all those people. None of them knew what Ash had really given her life for, nor were they willing to accept the reality of what had killed her. Even after so much tragedy, they galaxy couldn't be bothered to strain their ears for a moment. To Ella, Eden Prime served as a reminder of what could have been had someone listened.

It was beautiful, there was no debating that. Lush trees swayed with the lightly blowing wind, laying down dancing shadows among the golden grass. Clear blue sky with a tinge of red from the setting sun. They called it a paradise for a reason. No skyscrapers to block out the sun, no pollution from production facilities or artificial ecosystems. Just a tranquil, lazy day, going about its business without a care in the world. If only it would last forever.

"Shepard," Liara called, jarring Ella from her sorrowful remembrance. "I think we've found it."

Ella reached for the rifle attached to her back and felt the familiar unfolding of weaponry in her hands. The brothers had told her to expect the unexpected and, though it had been a cakewalk so far, Ella was rarely caught off-guard. This wouldn't be any exception.

Though Eden Prime was by all rights a farming community, the Protheans had evidently built a metropolis in their time. Ancient relics dotted the horizon of the archeological site, some coming no further than waist height while others towered several dozen meters high. The Alliance had made its mark as well, setting up housing and research facilities for the ongoing dig. Liara and Kaidan stood hesitantly by a platform recently erected by the archeologists. Knowing Liara, she was having a field day marveling at what lay just beneath the planet's surface.

"This is it?" Shepard asked as she approached the structure. Standard in every way imaginable aside from one notable fact; the dark, almost coffin-like pod Ella recognized as a prothean stasis chamber. She'd seen dozens if not hundreds of them on Ilos.

"Can't imagine anything else would be in there," Kaidan replied.

"Liara, can you get a reading on this thing?"

Liara stooped over the pod searching for some sort of control panel with her omni-tool. "Yes. Vital signs are fluctuating, but it would appear he is alive for the time being."

"Good, let's get him out of there."

Liara nodded dutifully, reaching to access the release switch. Smoke and frigid air emanated from the pod, accompanied by the sound of compressed gas finally being let out after fifty thousand years. The black coffin cracked open along the sides and slid apart, revealing what it had worked so hard to protect.

It wasn't quite what Ella had been expecting. She knew of course that the Collectors had once been prothean and would therefore bear a striking resemblance, but after hearing so many tales of the protheans' greatness she'd thought they would appear more regal. Standard red body armor similar to what Ella herself was wearing adorned his person with no protective helmet or unnecessarily gaudy armor improvements. He was just a common soldier from the looks of it.

"It could be sometime before he wakes up," Liara stated. "He has been in stasis for far too long."

Every single time Liara opened her mouth in situations like these, the unexpected happened.

The prothean's four eyes snapped to life as he regained consciousness, struggling to make sense of what he was witnessing. He darted about frantically in the pod despite not having full control of his motor functions and if Ella had been in a less serious mood she would have thought he looked like a flipped turtle fighting to get back on its feet.

Of course, her mocking thought was met with force, like the prothean knew what she thought of him and wasn't too pleased. Ella toppled backwards into the platform's handrail, almost instinctively reaching for her pistol.

 _Rule number one of a first contact scenario: assume hostility. Especially if the alien in question has just knocked you the hell out with biotics. Believe me, meeting the asari for the first time was not a pretty incident._

The words of her former drill sergeant ran through her head just like all her old CO's did from time to time.

 _The thing about biotics is that they have to have line of sight to attack. So, worse comes to worse, gouge their fucking eyes out and enjoy the show._

Well, she wasn't intending to do either of those considering this particular first contact was with a race previously thought to be extinct. She never understood the 'assume hostility' approach anyway. If the other party isn't hostile and sees someone bearing down on them with weapons trained, nine times out of ten a fight is going to break out. And if they are hostile, that's what kinetic barriers were designed for.

God, Ella suddenly felt sorry for the poor bastards who had to initiate first contact with the krogan.

Before she could snap herself out of her own mind the prothean was up and moving, stumbling away from his cryogenic tomb. It must have been confusing to no end, waking up fifty thousand years after your species perished only to find new races ushering you back into the world. And from the glimpses of memories she'd witnessed, it couldn't have been easy seeing Eden Prime go from a world on fire to a serene paradise.

"Be careful," Liara warned them as she followed patiently behind the prothean. "Remember, it's been fifty thousand years for us, but for him it's only been a moment."

The prothean stopped running at the end of Liara's sentence and seemed to take in the view before him. It truly was breathtaking, and it must have been more so with the knowledge that he had stepped fifty millennia into the future. A bit of disorientation had to be expected.

Nevertheless, the galaxy wasn't going to wait for him to adjust to his surroundings. Either he wanted to fight the Reapers again or he didn't, and Ella was banking pretty hard on the former.

"Can you understand me?" she asked. It would only make sense that he could, seeing as Ella had been able to understand all of his memories. Maybe the Cipher had subconsciously taught her the prothean language. That was a scary thought.

 _What the hell else do I not know I know?_

"Yes," the prothean replied. His voice was low and reminded Ella a bit of a croaking frog, only reinforcing the ridiculous turtle image she'd had in her head earlier. "Now that I have read your physiology, your nervous system. Enough to understand your language."

He turned away from the view of Eden Prime's open plains and faced the team, all four eyes wandering from Liara to Kaidan and back to Liara.

"Asari," he stated. Then, gesturing to Ella and Kaidan, "human. I am surrounded by primitives."

"What's he saying?" Kaidan asked.

"They have not received the Cipher?" the prothean interrupted. "Amusing. I am surprised that anyone did, considering what was left of my people before I went into stasis."

"The Reapers hit you hard from the looks of it," Ella replied. "We're facing a similar situation all across the galaxy."

He simply nodded. "They are the most formidable enemy the Prothean Empire ever faced. Even with the subjugated races fighting alongside us, we were merely insects to be swatted out of the way. If this cycle has come to fruition, I fear it is already too late for your species. You should have left me in the pod."

Ella wasn't sure if she felt anger at his cynicism or despair at the fact that he was probably right. Even if he had a way to defeat the Reapers that didn't require the Crucible, it wasn't likely anything could be done in the middle of the single worst war the galaxy had ever seen. She'd had her reservations about this mission for good reason.

"That might be," Ella replied. "But we're going to throw everything we have at the Reapers whether we win or lose. The only question is whether you want to stay in that pod for a few more millennia or get revenge at the bastards that killed your species."

The prothean chuckled at that. Or Ella thought it was a chuckle. With aliens, she'd learned not to make assumptions about social expressions, especially hanar.

 _Oh God, what's going to happen when the hanar realize there's a living prothean?_

"When I was born, the Reapers had already invaded my planet. I grew up fighting them, avoiding them, and attempting to free my people from their oppression. I was told that before the war, there were individuals selected among my people; avatars, who embodied and personified a single virtue. Just before the war ended and I was tossed into that pod, I was selected as an avatar by the few who remained."

"And what did you embody?" Ella played along.

"Vengeance."

 _Well, don't really see how that's a virtue, but if it helps you kill Reapers we can go with it._

"I assume that means you'll help us?"

The prothean looked once more at Liara and Kaidan, studying them over. "Humans and asari are the dominant races in the galaxy?"

"No. The races of our time work together. Or at least that's how it's supposed to go."

"But which is the leader?"

"None. We appoint representatives of every race that makes notable galactic contributions to a Council, which governs us. None of that really matters though now that our seat of power has been destroyed. The Citadel is gone."

"The Citadel?" The prothean frowned. "That is _not_ possible, the Reapers need it. It is what ensures that each cycle develops along the same technological paths, which is why we are always so easily defeated. The Reapers would not allow it to be destroyed."

"Yeah, I've been getting the disbelieving response a lot, but it happened. At this point we're fighting the Reapers wherever they hit us and hoping we can find some way to stop them. We found the schematics for a device your people were working on called the Crucible, but it needed the Citadel in order to function. Do you know anything that can help us?"

The prothean's frown deepened as he laced his hands behind his back and began pacing left and right. "I know nothing of this Crucible. I was a soldier, not a scientist, and as I said, the Reapers had invaded before I was even born. We had no communication with other continents, let alone other planets."

Well. Shit.

Ella wasn't sure why she was so disappointed. She'd expected the mission to end with no major positive effect on the war, but it still hit her all the same. The protheans hadn't stood a chance against the Reapers, and even having a member of the species with them wasn't going to make a difference. If only they'd stuck a scientist in that pod rather than a soldier.

Still, if he was as much of a bad-ass as he made himself out to be, he could be put to good use. He'd fought the Reapers literally his entire life and may know their tactics and strategies. It wouldn't save the galaxy, but it might help with the smaller picture.

"Well, in any event, I'd still like to get your input on the Reapers," Ella offered. "Maybe get you back in action when you get used to being thawed out again."

"I highly doubt it will make any difference, but if it will give me the chance to avenge my people, I accept."

Ella offered her hand. "Good to have you on the team. I'm Commander Shepard."

The prothean looked at her outstretched hand, squinted, and huffed just barely. "You may call me Javik. I assume you have a starship nearby? I would like to leave this place before I am forced to watch it burn a second time."

"Liara can show you the way."

Without further encouragement Liara stepped forward and ushered Javik in the direction of Normandy's LZ. The prothean gave one last look at Eden Prime and followed without a word.

"Well, good thing he's on our side," Kaidan commented.

"Right. I just hope we don't share the same fate as his people."

"At the very least he might be able to give us some tactical intel we might've missed. A way to fight the Reapers on the ground rather than in the sky."

"Here's hoping. Come on, we'll go see what Hackett has for us next."

"He-hey, good timing, Commander," Joker interrupted. Ella had never gotten used to the fact that he was constantly in her ear and eavesdropping on all field communications. Luckily the worst that ever resulted from it was a bad joke now and again.

"What's going on, Joker?" Shepard asked.

"Just get a priority message from Admiral Hackett. Can't get a stable vid link what with him being in the center of an asteroid, but audio's coming in loud and clear."

"Thanks, Joker. Put him through."

A beat passed, presumably Joker letting Hackett know he was getting through.

"Commander Shepard," Hackett's gravelly voice greeted. "All's well on Eden Prime, I hope?"

 _Aside from the fact that we literally know nothing more than we did six hours ago._

"Affirmative, sir. We've recovered the prothean and convinced him to join us. Should we report back to Sentinel Outpost to drop off the package, or are we going to search for Leviathan?"

"I want you back at Sentinel, Shepard, but for more than one reason. Our strike team in Jerusalem just returned. The mission was a complete failure, but…something else has come up. With the majority of the Alliance's leadership dead or MIA and Anderson refusing to leave earth, I need you to help me make sense of it. I'm sorry I can't be more detailed than that, but I don't want to risk anything on open comms. Suffice it to say this may be a game-changer."

A game-changer? What could they have possibly found in the middle of a desert that would help destroy the Reapers? Granted, Hackett hadn't disclosed why Garrus and the brothers were being sent there, but Ella had assumed it was simple recon duty. Find out why the Reapers are stumbling around Jerusalem when there were bigger fires to fight across the globe and the galaxy, for that matter.

Either way, if Hackett said he had something, it had to be substantial. He wasn't a man to mince words or exaggerate the importance of something in a situation like this one.

"Understood, sir. We'll hit the nearest relay and be back as soon as we can."

"One last thing, Commander," Hackett added. "Before you come back, I need you to pick up a few VIPs and bring them along, as well. Several frigates are inbound to the Exodus Cluster waiting for transfer. Get the passengers on board and get yourself safely back to Sentinel. We've got a plan brewing, and these people are going to be instrumental if it pans out."

"Any security concerns I should be worried about?"

"You know most of them, Shepard, and the ones that would normally be a threat won't be stupid enough to jeopardize what may be our only hope. Besides, it's a short trip from your location back to the Sol system. I don't like the idea of putting all our eggs in one basket, but we don't have much choice in the matter at this point. We'll talk more once you're here. Until then, stay safe, Shepard."

The comm line died.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Well, here we are back in action! I'm really sorry for the massive delay on this one folks, I had some personal issues and work issues and on and on so writing this chapter was really tough. I wrote half of it, hated it, rewrote it, still hated it, and finally settled on something I'm satisfied with. Hopefully you guys are too.

So, yeah, that happened. Shit just went crazy in a major way. It's kind of a challenge for me, every chapter I have to top myself in terms of insane plot twists but luckily there's a massive universe of stuff for me to fuck up. Also you might have noticed that I spent a bit more time in the characters' heads (specifically my own) and I'm wanting to dive into it more in the future. Shepard in particular, because she's more in-depth than the games portrayed her. I don't mean to say I'm a better character writer than BioWare's employees, just that having a character that can be good, bad or in between tends to make them somewhat ambiguous. She's anything but in this story.

And yeah, Grunt showed up! I mentioned that some more of Shepard's crew would be showing up, and this is a prelude to that. A lot more will be showing up in the next chapter, but quite a few will just be cameos. We've already got a pretty big cast right now and I want to focus on the characters I feel I can do justice as well as the OC's I want to feel natural; like they were in the ME-verse all along but we're just now getting a first look at them. As for where the story itself is going...well. Those familiar characters I mentioned? They'll have a big part in it. I don't want to give away too much.

And that's all for now! I can't promise regular updates just yet, but I've been getting back into my writing recently and already started on chapter eight so it shouldn't be months between updates. It also might interest you to know that I've already started the sequel! I may be posting a tidbit from the opening sequence just to let you see what it's going to be all about. In the meantime, thank you guys for your support as always, and I hope you enjoy!


	8. Chapter 8

The shuttle ride was a long, silent one. After the pandemonium that had greeted us in Jerusalem, all we could do was watch in terror while the Reapers and their drones tore each other to pieces. Whichever one still wanted us dead tried to fire off a few shots to knock us out of the sky, but it had its hands full with its rogue ally. Seeing two enormous death machines duking it out in the desert would have been incredible under any other circumstances, but at that point all I could think about was how fucking ridiculous it all was.

First: Why had the Reapers let us into the city, attacked us, fucking spoken to us, and then turned on each other? The ambush made sense, although I hardly saw a reason for it; they'd let their guard down, allowed us into the city and then thrown everything they had at us. But why stop mid-fight to tell us we were doomed, and then turn on each other?

Was everything I'd heard in my dream real? It would sure as hell explain it, even if it was the most unimaginable thing in the fucking universe. The Reapers—or at least the one that had spoken to me—were looking for an alternative to galactic genocide. Some other way to stop the naturally occurring end of the galaxy because harvesting organics hadn't worked thus far. And by the looks of things, that wasn't a course of action all the Reapers had agreed on.

Were they really willing to risk civil war within their infrastructure to save us? Or at the very least, to avoid this fabled natural end of the universe. It made sense; the Reapers, for all their pandering and arrogance, were too intelligent to follow one flawed course of action for all eternity. Naturally there would be some that realized harvesting organics wasn't working and they needed to try another alternative.

And yet the other half of my mind couldn't get over it. It's like when you found out your high school sweetheart cheated on you and it completely destroyed any chance of a relationship. Well, now imagine that he or she just came back to you years later and claimed they wanted to try to make things right, but part of them would still be cheating. It's a fucked up analogy, I know, and one that not many people are going to follow, so it's suitably ambiguous because in that confused moment you'll know how I felt.

Troy and Adison were equally shut down. Grunt was his usual self, chatting idly with Garrus about turians being worthless in desert conditions. Garrus merely listened absently, not even offering any snide comebacks. The absurdity of what we'd just witnessed along with the tremendous casualties we'd taken didn't leave much to be said. Forty-eight soldiers went into Jeruslaem. We were the only ones that came out.

I didn't ask Grunt what in the holy hell had brought him from Tuchanka to Earth, but even if I had I don't imagine he would have given me much of an answer. He likely didn't even really know. He was a soldier at his core; reasons didn't matter. He'd fight when and where they told him to fight.

The shuttle was evidently another along the lines of the one Shepard had aboard the Normandy; a stealth engine that, although lacking a Reaper IFF, seemed to fly relatively safely under their radar considering all the actual frigates and transport vessels attempting to leave earth. At that point, the majority of the Alliance Fleet had been decimated, so the Reapers weren't expecting any kind of resistance. If they had, I'm sure finding a cloaked shuttle would have been simple. Instead they were shooting down civilian vessels and desperate marines trying to escape hell.

It messes with you, knowing that people are dying while you're in relative safety. After all, Troy, Adison and I were essentially just common soldiers without our knowledge of the war. We were of no more use than any other marine out there fighting for their lives amidst the horrors of monsters. The only reason we'd survived so long was because we were surrounded by a team of badasses most of the time, and the rest could be attributed to sheer luck or the idiocy of the Reapers.

I wondered what Shepard was doing. It struck me then that I didn't even know her first name. All logic pointed to Jane, the default character name, but I'd seen enough in this reality to know that any assumption I made was subject to being blatantly wrong. And while thinking about the topic, I realized I didn't know anyone's first names aside from those that had been clearly established like Hackett or Anderson. I'd neglectfully gone about calling Daniels by her surname without even stopping to think about how odd that might be. I'd hate it if everyone just started calling me Womble.

Still, the idea that Shepard was out there facing a shitload of unknowns was the greater concern on my mind. Even though I had no doubt that she could handle herself, everything we'd witnessed so far—specifically within the last hour or so—screamed that this was a much more dangerous war than I'd previously seen. And that was saying something, considering how fucking brutal the war was made out to be and how many people lost their lives in it.

For that reason I think, there wasn't much to be said on the shuttle ride. We flew through space for what seemed like hours without uttering so much as a word. The pilot came to check on us periodically, applying new medi-gel and making sure we had just enough medical attention so we didn't bleed out on the shuttle floor. Troy and Adison were just as banged up as I was, and Garrus looked like he'd gotten the worst end of the deal. Blue blood stained the shining silver of his armor in just about every place imaginable, accompanied by more than a few gunshots and explosive residue. If I wasn't mistaken, I even saw fragments of metal lodged into his armor near the collar. Talk about a near-miss.

I couldn't even imagine how broken I looked, although going by Troy's and Adison's appearances I could make a fair guess. Their armor looked as though it had been stepped on by a Reaper and then set on fire for good measure. The chest pieces and gauntlets had caved in on themselves, likely due to being hit by all manner of debris during any of the numerous explosions we'd witnessed. The helmets were dented and the visors cracked, though we'd all taken them off upon entering the shuttle. It was a wonder that life support and VI assistance still functioned, damaged as our armor was.

And still, that wasn't my primary concern. Yeah, being thrown into the worst beating of your life—of anyone's life, possibly—was a pretty big deal, but the pressing matter at hand had to be what to do with the Reaper's statement. If, in fact, it had been real. I'd gone over it a dozen times in my head, like I always do, and I came to the solid conclusion that I hadn't just imagined that entire conversation. I'm a creative guy, but everything seemed so authentic. So original. And if I'd made it all up, I would've done it differently. I'd have made the Reaper less of a jack-ass, for one thing.

So if it was real, what the hell was I supposed to do about it? Tell Hackett that a certain Reaper—or group of Reapers—actually wanted to stop the harvesting and save the galaxy? Forget that, I wouldn't even be able to convince him that they wanted to save the galaxy because in all honesty I didn't believe it. I'm a stubborn asshole of a man; even if I had the evidence right in front of my face I still wouldn't believe it. Everything can be manipulated. Everything can be doctored.

 _How do you make sense of reality when everything you perceive could be only an illusion?_

This is my problem. I overthink. I mistrust. I always go to the dark even when there's a blinding light a few steps away because I'm so afraid it might go out. Cynicism at its finest.

We reached Sentinel Outpost after a few hours of weapon maintenance on Grunt's part and silent contemplation from the rest of us. Even when the shuttle pilot announced that we were going through decon and screening we were all relatively disinterested. Whatever fascination the galaxy held in store paled in comparison to the shock and awe instilled in me from the clusterfuck in Jerusalem.

No one greeted us when the shuttle landed. Upon entering the station and making our way to the conference room we'd all converged in during our last trip to Sentinel, a marine showed us to our private quarters with the vague statement that Hackett would be in touch soon. For now, we had a bit of time to unwind before the actual debriefing. And from there we'd need to figure out what the hell to do about the war.

Of course, the only logical/illogical option was to share what the Reaper had told me. Whether it was lying or not, we didn't have any other course of action. Hackett would process the information and decide what to do from there. He was the military strategist, after all. I was just the guy trying to survive this mess.

The quarters they'd stuck me in were a decent enough place to do whatever the hell it is you do after you've just had the biggest mindfuck in history. It was about the size of a nice hotel room, fully furnished, with an armor and weapons rack for easy access. Clearly designed for soldiers. Once I'd placed Invidium and by sidearm in the weapons panel they folded into the actual rack, and the rack itself slid back into the wall to create more space in the room. Seeing as my armor was literally toast at that point, there wasn't much point in putting it away.

I flopped down on the lengthy couch perched just in front of a holographic fireplace and let out a deep breath. Nothing else could express the torrent of thought and emotion flooding my mind and soul.

I suppose I shouldn't have been so surprised at what I was feeling. After all, veteran soldiers would have had trouble processing the chaos I'd seen, and I was far from a soldier, let alone a veteran. Half of me wanted to find Troy and Adison and grab a bottle of whiskey, but the better half argued that being sober was the only good way to get my head clear.

Still, I could use a cigarette. Someone on this station had to have smokes.

I was taking off for the door before I'd even finished the thought. There had to be someone, a procurement officer, some low-level facilities management guy that enjoyed nicotine if only to pass the time. Someone on this damn station had a smoking apparatus, and knowing me, I'd find the one person that—

"Daniels?"

Stupid me, getting so lost in chasing my addiction that I blocked out the rest of the world until I nearly ran full-force into someone I'd thought was a million miles away. That actually happened a lot back in 2016.

"Hey," she offered, running her hand uncertainly through her long hair.

"Hey," I replied equally as ambivalently. Our last conversation hadn't ended so well and I wasn't eager to carry on a chat with all the crazy shit we already had to deal with. "I was just gonna go raid the station for a cigarette."

She nodded diagonally, as if she expected nothing less, and pulled a pack from one of the leg pockets on her fatigues. I couldn't resist a forced laugh.

"With all the shit you gave me about needing new lungs?"

"That's the shitty thing about being a medic. Forces you to be a hypocrite if you're not as well-adjusted as the rest of the medical community."

Huh. So she wasn't this model of perfection that I'd suspected her to be. Hell, she wasn't even trying to be. I admire that, when someone can realize their own faults and find a way to come to grips with in. I can't exactly come to grips with mine, but I was halfway there at least so there's a good deal of respect to recognize.

"Do you . . . want to come in?" I asked weakly, stepping to the side to allow her access to the doorway. She stepped through with a meek smile.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"No, not really," I replied, following her into the barracks and grabbing a cigarette she offered. "I was just . . . processing, I guess, when the inspiration hit me to go look for nicotine."

"Here," she said, lighting the cigarette for me with a futuristic Zippo. I took a long drag, letting the tobacco burn bright orange and sending a decent cloud of smoke directly into my lungs. I let it sit there for a few seconds before exhaling the pastel white smoke through my nose. You'd think the harshness of nicotine smoke would be the least soothing thing, but when you've smoked for as long as I have it's like breathing a straight shot of oxygen. My first cigarette in days.

I could feel a little buzz, too. Maybe I'd taken too long a drag.

"Is it okay to smoke in here?" I asked, suddenly realizing we were in a controlled artificial environment.

"It's fine," Daniels replied, lighting a cigarette for herself. "Scrubbers take care of any contaminants and vent them into space. As long as we don't smoke a damn carton we'll be all right."

I nodded, took another drag and headed back to the sofa, watching the virtual flames flicker and dance against the wood background of the fireplace. It felt like I should have offered her something in return for the cigarette, but the only material possession I could call my own was Invidium and I'm not well known for my sparkling conversation skills. A seat at the couch and a crazy chat about the Reapers was really all I had.

"Jesus Christ," Daniels said absently. I looked over my shoulder to see her fixated on the wreckage of what had been my armor. "I heard your op went south, but . . . Goddamn."

"Yeah. Not one of the highlights of my life."

My gaze returned to the fire as I took another drag and Daniels made her way over to the couch, sitting at the opposite end. I wanted to talk about Jerusalem but with everything racing through my mind something would slip. I'd say something that would endanger the false image I'd made for myself and take away what little trust I'd earned in this universe.

But thinking about it, why did that matter anymore? The whole point of this charade was to covertly give the Alliance intel that would help them win the war. Now that everything was so spectacularly fucked, I was reduced to a common grunt with no more to offer than the cigarette pressed between my lips could. A fleeting reprieve that ultimately hurt more than it helped.

Oddly, Daniels was being uncharacteristically quiet. I'd expected some kind of psych eval or at the very least an "are you still alive?" but got nothing. Usually I'm the one failing to keep up my end of the conversation. Story of my life, really.

It also struck me as odd and slightly rude that literally every time Daniels and I had talked, it was always about me. The woman who had saved my life back on earth and pretty much the only person aside from the guys who cared about my mental well-being was a complete unknown. The only thing I had to go on was that she was from Iowa, and what I'd gleaned from listening between the lines. She'd likely gone to med school to become a doctor but joined the Alliance after Sovereign and the geth attacked the Citadel. Aside from that, nothing.

 _Just ask her what's been going on with her, it's not that hard._

Right. She'd saved my life, tried to be a friend, and offered cigarettes when I needed them most so the least I owed her was an attempt to care about something beyond myself. Hell, if she stayed as real as she was being now, I might actually enjoy a little interaction outside the two guys who literally know what I'm about to say before it happens.

"You doing all right?" I asked, taking one final drag off my cigarette before snuffing it out in the ashtray. Neither of us made eye contact. Given what we had on our minds and consciences, normal social etiquette was replaced by an authenticity that didn't demand anything. I wasn't a soldier or an information broker or a twenty-one-year-old who got pulled into this craziness by mistake, and she wasn't a medic or a therapist or some random woman I never knew existed. We were just us. In moments like those, it's enough just to hear the person's voice.

"I just found out Sorola's MIA," she replied, exhaling from her previous drag.

"Shit. What happened?"

"After you left for earth and Shepard went to Eden Prime, Hackett reassigned us. Since the station doesn't have any medical personnel I got stuck here, but Sorola requested to be sent back to earth. That idiot actually _requested_ it, after everything we saw." She took another drag. "His shuttle went down during re-entry, dropped from low-atmo straight to South Africa."

From the tone in her voice it was safe to assume any such fall would leave little doubt as to whether or not the personnel on board had survived. The MIA listing was more than likely just because they couldn't afford to send a search and recover team to confirm what they already knew.

"Fucking hell," I breathed. "You guys were close?"

"Not really. We got assigned to the same squad a couple months before the attack on earth. Didn't see too much action before then, but still. There's a camaraderie between soldiers, you know? Even if you don't know or like each other much, you're still there through all the bullshit together. And you heard Sorola, his granddad was a war hero, an N6. He was on the same career path. Probably would've made N7 if it hadn't been for this war."

Weirdly enough I did get it. I hadn't spent much time in this insane alternate universe, but I felt a similar bond with Shepard and Garrus. Even though we hadn't spent much time in combat together and I could hardly be considered a soldier, there was an attachment there that had grown beyond simply relating to what had once been fictional characters. When you place your life at risk with other people—when you work with them, fight for a goal that you know is unattainable simply because necessity forces you to—there's no other feeling like it. All the bullshit that usually accompanies a relationship between two people is eradicated. There's no mistrust, no doubt, no skepticism because you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they've got your back. No matter what. I could only imagine what it felt like to lose a brother like that.

"I'm sorry," I offered. "I've lost people before, but . . . not like that. Can't even imagine."

"Seems like there's a lot of that going around these days. You want another?"

I looked up for what felt like the first time in hours to find her holding a cigarette between her fingers again. Fuck it. The second one's always better. I wasn't sure if cancer had been cured yet, but shit, if they could replace my organs before they got too fucked up I might as well live like there was no tomorrow. No pun intended.

"It must've been crazy down there," Daniels said once we'd both begun burning our cancer sticks. "I saw the footage. There's no good way to process that kind of shitstorm."

"The footage?"

"From your helmet cam. They didn't tell you?"

That they'd actually seen everything that happened firsthand? For the first time in the entire conversation my eyes found hers, hoping that she'd tell me I wasn't insane for believing what I believed. If they'd seen it all go down there would be no need for me to convince them; they'd have the proof right in front of their damn faces, talking Reaper and all. Shit, maybe I wasn't totally screwed.

"You're telling me you saw everything that happened in Jerusalem?" I asked for clarity.

"Yeah. The ambush, you and your cousins holding off the drones, and that arrogant son of a bitch doing what the Reapers do best. Screwing all our plans to shit."

"So I'm not completely crazy. That thing actually told us they want to save the galaxy by wiping us out; you heard all that, right?"

She nodded, taking a drag from her cigarette, and I realized in my neglect I'd allowed mine to accumulate a healthy bit of ash. That mistake was quickly corrected by taking a long drag, letting the tobacco burn and the ashes drop to the floor.

"Audio cut out a bit, but we got the big picture. Hackett can't make heads or tails of it. I mean Christ, a Reaper spared your lives, told you it wanted to save the galaxy, then attacked its own ally so you could escape in the confusion. I'm not sure if we should be jumping for joy or trying to come up with a contingency for when the rest of the robots decide to go batshit."

"So we end up here," I finished the thought, "trying to make sense of something that defies all fucking logic."

Daniels nodded as if to say "Pretty much."

So Hackett knew everything I did. Probably more; I was pretty incoherent for extended periods of our excursion into the desert. If they had audio and video from me, Troy, and Adison maybe Shepard could review it and see something we hadn't. She was the one with the most experience fighting Reapers, after all. She'd be the one most likely to know whether or not it had been telling the truth, and probably the only one who could convince Hackett. The problem was finding a way to proceed now that we knew not all the Reapers wanted to harvest us.

Then again, there was my near-death lucid dream or whatever the fuck you want to call it, which I doubt had been something the helmet cam would've picked up. To be honest, the Reaper had conveyed more helpful information outside the realm of reality. The entire conversation beforehand could just be taken as arrogant self-gratification from a boot crushing an ant.

Still, something had to be said. This opportunity was too good to pass up on, and with the Citadel turned into a debris field, our only option was to find out what this rogue Reaper wanted us to do. The boogeyman was kicking down our door and his better half was telling us we needed to worry more about the apocalypse.

How the fuck do you handle a situation like that? Billions of people were dying across the galaxy and we were supposed to ignore that so we could save trillions in the long run? Logically it was the sensible course of action, but when you're responsible for all those lives you don't see thought and rationality—you see heart and reckless empathy. And thinking with your emotions never works.

I breathed in another cloud of smoke and let it hang in my lungs for a while before exhaling. Nicotine takes a bit of your focus away from whatever shit you're dealing with. Thank God I had cigarettes.

No, it wasn't really working. This is another of my faults; I trick myself into believing that cigarettes and alcohol help block stress when all they really do is make me guilty for not being capable of handling it appropriately. The fact that I was sitting in a comfortable, safe room enjoying half an hour of chain-smoking while everyone on earth was fighting for their fucking lives wasn't right. It couldn't be.

"Hey Daniels," I uttered nonchalantly.

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

She blew out a cloud of smoke and smothered her cigarette in the ashtray. "Shoot."

"First, and I'm an asshole for not asking sooner, but what's your first name?"

If I'm not mistaken, she had to hide a light smile with that one. "Claire."

"Claire," I repeated. "Is it all right if I call you that or would it be breaking some chain of command regulations?"

She did legitimately chuckle this time, the first laugh I'd heard in days. "Claire is fine."

"Good, because I really did not want to be on a last name basis with you for the rest of my life."

"Neither did I. But it sounded like you wanted to ask me something a little more serious."

I took my last drag and put out my cigarette, noticing that I'd gotten a bit light-headed from smoking so fast. Maybe I'd need those new lungs sooner rather than later.

"Yeah," I replied, the conversation shifting back to a more somber tone. "Is it just me or does it feel . . . wrong?"

"What?"

"Us being here while there are people out there dying every minute. Don't get me wrong, we're putting our asses on the line just like everyone else, but it seems like we're getting special treatment. The guys out there in the trenches on earth—they don't have a safe FOB to fall back to or stealth vessels that can get them from one place to the other without attracting attention. Is what we're doing really any more important than what everyone else is doing?"

Daniels exhaled emphatically. No doubt I wasn't the first soldier to ask a question like that, and from the sound of it she'd asked herself the same thing.

"There's no good answer for something like that," was her straightforward reply. "In an ideal world, yeah, everyone would have the same chances of coming out of this alive. The best soldiers would be here making the most of this war, Hackett would be able to coordinate with our entire army rather than a tenth of it, and you and I would probably be on the frontlines holding down a shit position with the rest of the grunts out there. But there's no fairness in any of this. Never is. Shit happens and we make the most of it with what we've got. You may not be the best soldier in the Alliance and I may not be the best medic, but we're here because you had the foresight to find Shepard back on Vancouver; because you knew the only shot at survival was Normandy. So we can either sit on our asses cursing our uselessness, or we can do our best. Because it's up to us to make a difference for the ones who can't."

I sighed and lit another cigarette. _Third time's the charm._

"I guess," I replied weakly. "I just . . . I guess I just feel powerless. With everything the guys and I knew about this war—everything we thought we knew, at least—I thought we could do some fucking good. Make this war a little more bearable. Instead I'm convinced we've just fucked it up even worse."

"Why?" Daniels asked. "You _have_ been doing good work out there. You helped save the Councilors. You got intel from the Reapers and managed to escape one of the worst onslaughts I've seen or heard of in this war. Why is it that no matter what you do you still beat yourself down like this?"

Why? Well, that was a question that could keep therapists busy for years. Because of my moral belief system, maybe. Because I believed that it was my obligation to protect people from anything that threatened them, whether physical, emotional, or moral. Or maybe it was because I always seemed to lose the people I care about the most. Every time I grow close to someone they leave. And yeah, sometimes they come back, but it's like part of them is still gone and I take responsibility for losing them. For not being enough.

I couldn't tell her that, though. I didn't dare let her see how fucked up I am inside. Despite the fact that she was rapidly growing on me, there have been maybe three people in my life that have ever known the damaged person I really am. No one understands it. No one seems to get that I really couldn't care less if I'm dead. No one understands my reasoning or how my thoughts and emotions work; they label it crazy or the bummed-out ravings of a kid that's way too depressed. So I form a mask, put on a façade so the rest of the world thinks I'm normal, and every day it kills me a little bit. And I know it. I know I'm losing myself.

So the better question was why the fuck wouldn't I beat myself down?

I puffed out a cloud of smoke. "Because if I don't take the blame, someone else has to. No one should have to deal with the weight of darkness like that."

"And you're . . . what? You're the exception to that? You're the only person in the galaxy that deserves to feel shitty about themselves?"

"Of course not, there are plenty of assholes out there that should, but . . ." I sighed in frustration, failing to express myself adequately. "You know the one thing I want out of life? Every day I wake up and I tell myself I'm going to be a better man. That I'm going to seek wisdom and not fall into the traps people always find themselves in. That I'm going to put my demons behind me and press on. And you know what? I fucking hate myself. I hate everything about me. I hate that I smoke and drink and swear; I hate that I'm this fucking robotic person that can turn his emotions on and off like a fucking light; I hate that no matter what I do—no matter how hard I try—I'll never be better than I am right now. And I know that's the problem. I'll never be better if I can't set all that aside, but I can't fucking do that. I can't let go of who I am, so I'll never be anything more than a shadow."

God, what an idiot I am. I snuffed the cigarette forcefully with the end of my rant and stood to my feet, crossing the room to the small refrigeration unit. The full bottle of whiskey was calling my name.

I had the liquor in hand and was popping it open when I felt the warmth of Daniels' fingers slide across mine. With a gentle but clear motion she guided my hand to put the bottle away and while every bone in my body told me to resist, something else compelled me to let it go.

"Listen to me," she said, tightening her grip on my hand. "You are _not_ broken. I swear to God you are a good man. It may seem like you're chasing shadows, like you're the only one lost in a sea of darkness, but you're not alone. And you're not lost. You're right where you're supposed to be. You think you're surrounded in this mist of guilt and pain, but you're there because you're strong enough to survive it. The world needs people like you. Someone who can go into that darkness and lead people out of it. No matter what, remember that. You aren't the shadows surrounding you. You're the light they're trying to put out."

I wasn't sure what to say. I wasn't really sure I was supposed to say anything.

Then she hugged me. I hadn't even begun to process what she'd said or how it affected me when she let go of my hand and slid her arms around my shoulders. For a moment I was paralyzed, unable to think or move or even breathe. Something like purposeful instinct took over and I returned the embrace.

There haven't been very many poignant moments in my life. The last time I'd cried had been three years earlier when I was driving home from helping my stepdad move when he and my mom split up. The last time I'd felt real happiness had been two years earlier.

So you can imagine how strange it felt when suddenly I breathed a veritable cocktail of emotion ranging from despondence to overwhelming gratitude. I was sure I was making an ass out of myself, shaking on the spot and trying to steady my breathing knowing full well it refused to calm, but Daniels didn't seem to pay it any attention. She just hugged me tighter, offering an abundance of comfort to combat my raging emotions.

I swear, if I hadn't had so much practice keeping a strong face there would have been waterfalls pouring out of my eyes.

And that's the crazy thing: nothing she'd said was something I hadn't heard before. I grew up in modern churches; that's literally all they do there is give you affirmation. Maybe it impacted me so deeply just because I knew Daniels was struggling the same way I was and yet she saw something in me that I didn't think existed. Whatever the reason, the woman who had been a passing acquaintance only half an hour earlier was now responsible for completely destroying the wall of apathy I'd spent ten years building to protect me.

And it made gave me hope.

I'm not sure whether it was because I'd finally stopped shaking or because we spent several minutes like that, but Daniels released her hold and me on pulled away. I don't think I've ever seen a happier smile on someone who'd clearly bawled her eyes out.

"Thank you," was all I could say.

Her smile widened and she looked away momentarily to wipe her eyes. "We both need that, I think."

Yeah. Yeah we did.

* * *

I don't know how many hours passed after that moment. A handful, at least. We transitioned from that intense conversation to small talk easily, then slipped in and out of more serious topics as the day went on. Or night, I really wasn't sure seeing as I'd shut my omni-tool down. It's amazing how you can lose track of time just enjoying someone's company. What starts as a simple midnight chat turns into an 8am discussion in no time, leaving you to wonder what the hell you just talked about for eight hours straight. I think it's even more astounding for someone like me who doesn't relish digging into their thoughts and emotions for someone else's perusal. But Claire had witnessed all my fears and failures and still hadn't run full-speed in the opposite direction. There was no reason to hide after that.

At some point Troy and Adison let themselves in, claiming I was ignoring all their messages, and after a few more hours of winding down and enjoying ourselves we'd all passed out in various location throughout the room. I tell you, that was the most comfortable floor I'd ever slept on. Fuck the couch and the bed, and the fuckers that got there before me.

I woke up before the others. Amazing what a good rest and the faith of someone you believe in can do for you. Generally I'm the one who can stay up all night and sleep for twelve hours; seriously, in my old life it wasn't uncommon for me to be up until three in the morning, go to work at six all week, and sleep literally all weekend. Waking up at a decent time when everyone else was still struggling to recuperate wasn't something I was accustomed to.

I debated laying on the floor all day until I got called to go out on some important errand, but something was different. I actually wanted to do something productive.

Breakfast. Breakfast sounded amazing, and if I knew Troy, he'd need something to eat after all the bourbon we'd downed the previous night. Even that was out of place, though. Normally when I drink it's to relieve the stress of a shitty week. But last night was just . . . fun. We enjoyed ourselves despite everything that stood against us, and while I still struggled with this martyr complex, it felt good. I think I realized we couldn't continue to cripple ourselves with our fears and responsibilities. We had to take the bad along with the good and celebrate what we had rather than despair over what we didn't.

I had my family. I had a friend in Claire. And we would figure things out. Whatever bullshit the Reapers threw at us, we'd deal with it.

It took me a minute to figure out how to work the appliances in my crammed kitchenette, but after a few minutes of omni-tool tutorials I had a skillet of bacon and scrambled eggs cooking on the stovetop. Thankfully no matter how much I drink I never get hungover, otherwise I'm sure a simple task like making breakfast would've turned into a catastrophe.

There was still something missing though, so I dug around on the extranet until I finally found them.

 _Dear G—d – Being as an Ocean_

My God, they did exist. I was worried that my boys wouldn't be a thing in this reality, but I suppose the universe knew their music was crucial to my survival.

 _I'm trying my best to be a better man. Despite all my fears, I really am. I write these things to remind myself that amidst this darkness there remains light, hope, and a perfect plan._

Joel screamed out the verse in a perfect blend of emotion and sincerity, evoking the same in me. Out of the thousands of musicians and the millions of songs I'd listened to, this was the one band that felt like I was really part of it. Like I could've written the music myself. I'd actually had in-depth conversations with the guys a few times; everything they put to music was something that they cared deeply about, and our outlooks on life coincided so perfectly. I'd never met anyone else who shared my thoughts and opinions on such a real level.

Well, aside from Troy. And maybe Claire.

I pulled the first helping of bacon off the skillet and laid it on a plate to the side of the stovetop, reaching into the refrigeration unit for more. The song ended and started over, kicking off with a light post-hardcore guitar riff. Simple, not more than six notes in a line, but so effective. The song was about recognizing our faults as fallible human beings, but it was also meant to convey that perfection is an impossible goal. Not everything is possible. We're going to fail. Sometimes we simply won't stack up. But the measure of a man is not determined by what he achieves in life, it's determined by how hard he tries to overcome the obstacles set in his way and how gracefully he handles his failures.

 _So you can call this sort of life a hopeless endeavor, that this tiny vessel could ever endure such violent weather. Call it pointless; I'll continue to carry out grace nonetheless._

The smell of slightly singed eggs hit my nose before I let my mind slip away and I scooped them out of the pan hastily. I'd never been much of a cook, but eggs, bacon and pancakes are pretty hard to mess up unless you just aren't paying attention.

Shit, that's what I was missing. Pancakes. No flour in the cupboard, and there wasn't a source of running water in the room. Apparently everyone in the future used steam for sinks and showers.

Well, two out of three. Good enough. To be honest the bacon was all that mattered.

"What are you doing up so early, Donz?"

I turned briefly, as much to grab a fork as to greet Adison.

"Couldn't sleep," I replied, grabbing the rest of the bacon out of the skillet. "I don't know if I made enough for everyone so I guess just dig in while it's here."

He didn't have any objections, going straight for a prime slice of bacon before Troy and Claire woke up. I was actually surprised they were still asleep, given how small the room actually was. We were practically suffocating in bacon fumes.

"This is good," Adison stated, taking a seat by the miniscule countertop adjacent to the stove. "I didn't know you could cook."

"Seriously dude? I lived in the middle of fucking nowhere; only thing in twenty miles to eat was McDonald's, of course I can cook. Some."

Though we'd all achieved a measure of peace the night before, it was clear something I'd said set Adison's mind racing. I've had a few guys in my life that I've considered brothers, but Troy and Adison were my only actual family. Sure we were cousins by blood, and in Adison's case we didn't even share that, but we'd grown up together. We'd been there consistently for twenty years, even when we were all going our separate ways. In the end we always found and relied on each other. When you understand someone so well it's easy to know what they're thinking.

"Lived," he said, repeating the word. "Is that really in the past now?"

I exhaled deeply. "Yeah, I guess so. It's weird, it's only been five days, but on the other hand . . . it's been five days. I dunno, maybe it's because I've been so focused on getting shit done here, but I haven't really thought much about my life back then."

"You don't want to go back?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course I do, man. My sister was supposed to get married in November! Every time I think about it my stomach twists because I'm not going to be there to see it."

 _And yet . . ._

There was part of me that didn't really give a fuck. As I've mentioned before, I had an average job with a moderately nice car and a somewhat decent house. The two guys that meant the most to me had come along on this ride.

"I feel like there's a 'but' coming though," Adison commented.

I forced a sigh. "I dunno dude. Aside from my sister, what the hell else is back there for me? I've got a job at a small business that's running itself into the ground, my money situation's nothing to brag about, and the only girl I loved moved to Ohio and hates my fucking guts. So is it crazy that I'm actually not opposed to the idea of a clean slate?"

"Assuming we survive the Reapers."

Well, yeah. There was that.

"What about you?" I asked. No point digging deeper into my flawed mode of thinking. "You seem to be handling all this pretty well, all things considered."

"It might seem that way. I'm just glad you and Troy are here. Don't get me wrong, this is the opportunity of a lifetime for a guy like me—getting to shoot a bunch of mutant zombies in real life—but if I'd wanted to be a soldier I would've joined the Army. I'm a cop. I was happy with my life. But, like you said, it seems like _this_ is my life now. Maybe it'll just take time to get used to it."

I've always admired that about Adison. You can tell when he's not content with something, but he never shows it. He never wants to seem ungrateful for the positive things in his life, even if the negative vastly outweighs them.

Someone stirred on the other end of the room and I suddenly remembered that I'd better get some bacon while I still could.

"So what's the deal with you and Daniels?" Adison asked, nodding toward the bed where she rolled over and settled back to sleep.

"She patched me up back in Vancouver," I said through mouthfuls of food. "Right after we got . . . taken, I guess, from 2016. The whole city was in fucking panic mode, dude. Me and Troy were trying to find Shepard when a frigate detonated in-atmosphere. The blast knocked us down a good fifteen stories. Claire put me back together and helped us to the Normandy with another soldier from her unit."

"So she's not an officer or anything."

"No. Why?"

"It's just weird, don't you think? I don't know nearly as much as you and Troy do about this war, but from what you've told me things aren't going at all according to plan. And you'd think after the mess we just went through they'd want to talk to us about it as soon as possible."

My brows raised involuntarily and I went for the eggs. "They don't have any clue what to do. Claire told me they've got video from all our helmets, so they know what happened down there, they just can't believe it. Any time a Reaper ever spoke to Shepard it was nothing but threats and arrogant declarations of supremacy. And this one just tried to tell us we need to find a way to stop the end of the world so the rest of them will stop harvesting us. It's well beyond anything I was prepared for."

Adison helped himself to a bit more bacon and I realized some orange juice would make this go down perfectly.

 _Thank God, I have some._

"So nothing is the same as the game?" Adison asked when he finished chewing.

"The beginning was. But as soon as we got to the Citadel everything got turned upside down. As far as I can tell, everything's right on par up until that point."

"No idea what changed things?"

"Aside from our existence here? No. But it doesn't really matter all in all. It is what it is. I'm just doing as I'm told at this point, man. Hackett will comb through what happened in Jerusalem, Shepard will keep doing her thing, and hopefully we'll find a plan."

More stirs coming from the two slumbering individuals only a few feet away. We still had a good helping of bacon and eggs left but the two of us were digging through it fairly quickly. Whoever woke up last was going to be screwed.

Apparently it was going to be Troy. And damn, I'd made all this food on the pretense that he'd need a hangover cure.

"You two are up and at it early," Claire said, easing out of bed and making her way to the empty stool by the counter. "Who made breakfast?"

"Guilty," I replied, raising a hand in the air. "But if it's horrible you can blame Adison, no one will know."

She smiled, grabbed a slice of bacon, and scooped the eggs up with it. I've seen it a million times since then but all I could think in the moment was how fucking ingenious that was.

Shit. I really hoped she'd actually been asleep for that whole conversation, otherwise we were in a bit of trouble. Adison had the same look on his face, probably before I did.

"God," Claire suddenly announced.

My breath caught for a moment.

"This is great. What seasoning did you use?"

 _Sigh. Resume breathing._

"Salt and pepper, courtesy of shitty Alliance rationing," I replied. Adison gave me a meaningful look, and we both understood that we'd have to be much more careful from now on. Our lie was a carefully constructed one and while ultimately beneficial for the relationships we'd established, the possibility of it unraveling was too real.

I only then realized that I was in nothing but my briefs and a T-shirt. Well, there went both my modesty and my dignity.

"You guys sleep okay?" I asked, making conversation to draw attention from the fact that I was desperately searching for my jeans.

"About as well as any other night," Claire replied. "Thanks for letting me crash here, by the way. I feel a little guilty about you sleeping on the floor."

I laughed at that. "Well, I was gonna end up there at some point anyway."

 _There!_

The jeans were on in no time. It turns out that steam-cleaning denim makes it much easier to wear than washing it.

A chime sounded off from somewhere in the room, and despite having occupied it for several hours I had no earthly idea what could've possibly been making the noise. It almost sounded like an omni-tool alert.

"Well, looks like we'll have to cut breakfast short," Claire said. Yep, omni-tool. "Hackett wants to see us."

"All of us?" I asked.

"All of us. And apparently he's invited guests."

Guests? That wasn't possible. The only ship that could get in and out without being noticed was Normandy, and she was a million miles away. Unless . . .

"Shepard found the prothean?"

Claire checked her omni-tool again. "Him, and a few dozen others. Looks like some of the most powerful biotics in civilized space are inbound."

Well. No way that was a coincidence. Hackett had been doing his research, and he had a plan.

Time for action.

* * *

 ** _Author's Notes_ :** Well, here we are again! This chapter certainly had a much different feel to it than the others, so I'll be interested to see the response. Not much happened in terms of story but I'm pretty pleased with how the tone and mood turned out, and of course, we're just taking a breather before moving on to the next mindfuck. The next few chapters are going to be nothing but advancing plotlines.

And yeah, can you guess who these special guests might be? Who am I kidding, you've probably got a few ideas, but I think some of them might surprise you. A lot of familiar characters showing up next chapter, as well as a couple new ones I'm hoping you guys like.

Btw, I finally changed the tags in my story to appropriately reflect the fact that we have a large cast of OC's! I'm slowly figuring it out. Also I apologize once again for the delay, things were just crazy what with weddings, birthdays, and holidays. Seriously, ninety percent of my family has their birthdays between November and January, so it's always busy this time of year. And expensive...

Anyway, thank you guys for the support as always, and I'll see you next chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

_For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the sky:_

 _A time to live, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pull that which is planted,_

 _A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to destroy, and a time to recover,_

 _A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance,_

 _A time to cast away arms, and a time to gather arms; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain,_

 _A time to receive, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to let go,_

 _A time to rend, and a time to mend that which has been rent; a time to stay silent, and a time to speak,_

 _A time to love, and a time to hate;_

 _A time for war, and a time for peace._

The conference room didn't seem large enough to hold so many people. There must have been fifty of us crammed into a room that, while certainly stadium-esque in its design, was probably meant to comfortably fit more like twenty. Not to mention that not everyone was human. In fact, the majority weren't. Maybe ten percent human, and that was a generous estimate. Asari, turians, krogan, salarians, batarians, and even a few drell, volus, and hanar filled every inch of space there was to offer, leaving Hackett only a few feet of space at the center of the room to display the Alliance's latest findings.

The pre-presentation mood was tense, to say the least. Nobody knew why in the hell they were here and they had problems on the home front to worry about. I'd come to the conclusion within two minutes that literally every individual in the room was extremely important in their cultural hierarchy; if not politicians, financiers or elite soldiers or heads of state. I doubted there had ever been such galactic power gathered in a single place.

God, if the Reapers found us now there would truly be no hope. The sense of authority and significance in the room conveyed the fact that without these individuals the galaxy would certainly crumble. They held all the power in the universe; all the sway with their respective races, which were quite literally the backbone of the galaxy.

Noticeably absent were, of course, the quarians. No way in hell Hackett could pull off getting them here, even using Shepard's rapport with Tali. They were likely halfway towards blowing the geth to hell at this point. Or maybe they weren't. The universe had shifted when we lost the Citadel, so maybe even the quarians had realized now wasn't the right time for a full-scale war.

 _Keep dreaming, Donovan._

Amidst all the chaos were a few familiar faces. After the initial meet-and-greet (and once Hackett had suitably calmed the room enough to give his report) the room had split evenly, with each race grouping together before being seated. The krogan made sure to get as far away from the turians and salarians as possible, which naturally put them right next to us. If I wasn't mistaken, I saw the familiar scars belonging to Urdnot Wrex, as well as his brother, his protégé Grunt, and a few aged krogan. Made sense; the older a krogan is, the more powerful he gets.

With the drell I could clearly see Thane's son, Kolyat, as well as a few more dangerous-looking individuals seated next to who I assumed to be their hanar employers. Of course, distinguishing hanar is like trying to tell two flies apart, so there was no use there. Same went for the batarians and volus.

On the salarian end of the room, Captain Kirrahe sat next to the dalatrass and Councilor Valern, both of whom were being watched carefully by the Spectre Jondum Bau. Mordin Solus had even showed up, although he preferred to stay somewhat closer to the krogan, claiming it was for their peace of mind. Of all the groups gathered in that room—including the krogan and batarians—the salarians seemed the most concerned about this meeting of the minds. Natural, given their jumpy predispositions and incredible intelligence.

The asari came prepared with their best: matriarchs, Spectres, and commandoes that surely could have crushed the entire room into a coffee cup with their combined abilities, Liara and Samara included. Councilor Tevos sat at the front of the aisle, and as with the salarian Councilor, her people were watching her very closely.

Of course, Garrus stood with the Primarch of Palaven and Councilor Sparatus, flanked by no fewer than a dozen Spectre agents and turian specialists. I think I even saw a cabal in their group; it was still hard to tell turian males from females at that point.

And finally, the humans. Troy, Adison and I were there naturally, accompanied by Claire, Kaidan, Jack, Miranda Lawson, a couple N7 operatives that had been pulled from active duty specifically to provide extra security, and of course, the hero herself. Shepard stood just to Hackett's side, letting everyone in the room know that this wasn't strictly an Alliance operation. It was a galactic affair with no room for stupidity.

Honestly, I felt out so out of place. There sat the most powerful people in the galaxy and me, the guy who stumbled into this mess just trying to survive. Everyone in the room could take down no fewer than two dozen Reaper drones single-handedly, some of them using nothing but a fucking paper clip, and somehow I was still in the inner circle. I guess knowledge is power after all, even if all you know is what should have happened rather than what had actually did. That, and we were probably just a spectacle. Someone for Hackett to point to when he told the mob what had happened in Jerusalem and that we'd lived to tell the tale.

Either way, this was not going to be a pleasant day.

"Thank you all for coming," Hackett said confidently. "I'm aware that this is not the ideal setting, and for most of us these aren't ideal circumstances. But the truth is that the Reapers are unlike anything we could've expected, even after Commander Shepard's encounters with them. It's been five days and we're already losing this war by a landslide."

The krogan were already getting restless. Most of them didn't care, they were just waiting to get back out to where the action was. To them, there was nothing to lose. The Genophage had essentially destroyed their people, so why not go down fighting? Kamikaze mentality.

"Some of you are already aware of the information I'm about to present to you," Hackett continued. "Some of you aren't. But bear in mind that this is not the reason I've called this meeting, so I'll be brief, and I'd ask you to do the same. When the Reapers first attacked earth, Commander Shepard managed to escape with a skeleton crew aboard the Normandy to appeal to the Council for help. Before she arrived at the Citadel, however, she made a trip to the prothean archives on Mars, where our scientists discovered the blueprints to a superweapon the protheans had been working on to destroy the Reapers."

Murmurs of discontent went up around the room, so many that I could hardly make a single one out. It wasn't hard to guess what they were thinking though. _Could it work?_ _Why were we not informed?_

"These plans are irrelevant now, due to the fact that this weapon required an energy source that's no longer feasible: the Citadel. With the station gone and our troops bogged down in fighting the Reapers there's no way to come up with the energy needed to fire the damn thing. So we moved on to our next best lead.

"A small cache of intel gathered from the Martian beacon also led us to believe that not all the Reapers want to harvest organics. In fact, some of them wanted to leave us be in favor of more virtuous goals. This theory was confirmed when I sent a team to a Reaper-occupied area of earth. This is what they came back with."

The room darkened noticeably, leaving the projection table at the center of the room as the only remaining source of light. The image changed from a view of earth to a static image of two Reapers ambling just above the camera, moving between sand and mortar buildings with no real purpose or direction.

Then the video began playing. An Alliance heavy artillery vehicle rolled by, followed by half a dozen troops walking down a deserted alleyway. The camera darted back and forth, checking surroundings like any good soldier would.

 _"Why haven't we been attacked yet?"_ the marines' commander asked in passing.

 _"I don't know,"_ Garrus's voice replied. His sentence was immediately followed by the camera seeking the source of his voice and finding him scanning rooftops with his rifle. And flanking him on either side, Troy, Adison and I.

We were watching Jerusalem.

The camera cut abruptly to a view of someone holding a long rifle, scanning similar to Garrus. _"Got nothing on scanners,"_ Troy said. _"If there's anything moving within a hundred meters I should see it."_

Then I noticed the timestamp at the corner of the screen, as well as a mini-HUD that displayed whose eyes we were seeing through. The camera cut about two minutes ahead to a corporal I didn't recognize, carefully watching for movement like we had all been doing. It was quiet, aside from the ominous groans of the Reapers, but that was how it had been just before—

The screen lit up with blinding red light and the feed cut out into static, switching over to yet another unknown name. It was complete pandemonium; one second shrapnel and flames were licking at the air and the camera, and the next everyone was running in a frenzy to get out of the line of fire. Incoherent yells and screams permeated the concussions rattling the camera before that feed was also lost.

Then it switched to mine. There wasn't much to see between the blasts of fire and the debris threatening to crush us with every step, but on we ran. The camera skipped ahead every so often, glossing over the unimportant details but revealing just enough to let everyone know exactly what it had been like down there. Buildings literally crumbled to dust right in front of us preceded by flashes of light, and all the while the metallic groans from the Reapers seemed to signal the fact that we were hopelessly screwed.

"This is when we lost audio contact," Hackett said, though for the life of me I had no idea where the hell he was. Instead I focused on the view screen, which skipped ahead to a view from Troy's helmet cam. He was in the sniper's nest when we'd been holding out against the Reapers, fifty feet in the air, a massive swarm of drones in every direction below him. Heads exploded with each of his shots and it was easy to see every time Adison or I took one down. Damn, we really had put up a hell of a fight.

Then the drones stopped. Troy kept firing.

"This is where we got audio back."

 _"Troy, stop shooting!"_ Adison said. They went back and forth for a minute, as we're known to do, before the scariest fucking thing I'd ever witnessed happened all over again. The Reaper spoke to us, and everyone in the room heard it.

 _"You are not like the others. Possessing knowledge and expectations that do not belong. Your very existence does not belong."_

The reaction was startling. Though I couldn't see a single fucking thing aside from the screen in front of me, you could hear it in the gasps and feel it in the air. Save Shepard and a few of her crew, none of these people had ever heard a Reaper speak before. The very voice was unsettling, even to someone who had heard it a hundred times.

The rest of the video played out flawlessly, second by second exactly how it had happened, only this time I was seeing it from Troy's perspective. He had the better vantage point, which made his camera the best choice to go with, I suppose.

It made me wonder, though. Why had we lost comms when the attack started, then got them back as soon as the drones powered down and the Reaper began speaking with us? Was that by design? It seemed too coincidental that we'd regained audio connection just in time to let everyone hear the Reaper speak to us.

But on the other hand, why question a fortuitous turn of events? The universe had finally thrown us a bone, and despite how strangely convenient it may have been, we weren't in a position to be skeptical about any good thing to come our way. Maybe the Reaper had known we were feeding information back to central command and restored comms on purpose—in any event, it had happened, and there was no use worrying about something that was out of our control.

The room had settled into a solemn stillness halfway through the Reaper's dialogue. Even the krogan and batarians, who had been more interested in keeping an eye on the other races (undoubtedly planning the best course of attack if things were to go horribly wrong) had settled for giving their sole attention to the screen replaying one of my worst nightmares. Hopefully the idea was actually sinking in that this was huge.

 _"The manipulation of dark energy over the course of many millennia has weakened the fabric of our reality,"_ the Reaper droned on. _"Only an equally powerful reaction will reverse the damage dealt. We have come each cycle in search of a primitive species capable of ascending to our status while retaining their natural abilities. We are incapable of dark matter manipulation. You are not."_

The asari and salarians in particular seemed quite fascinated by this news. Of course they would be; the asari were the most powerful biotics in the galaxy and the salarians were generally the most intelligent. It stood to reason that they would be the first to truly understand what the Reaper was getting at.

 _"So what do you want from us?"_ Troy asked.

 _"Your genetic material is necessary to bring this cycle to fruition. We will bring about your ascendance, and should the worst come to pass, we will wait for the next cycle. This is the way it has always been. If our plans never succeed, this is how it will always be until the end comes. No matter what the outcome, your sacrifice is for a noble purpose. Necessity dictates that in the end, you will be nothing but dust and embers."_

Then the whole thing went dark, audio and video. No blinding explosion, no flash of light to signal the fact that the Reaper had tried to blow us to fucking pieces. Just black.

The lighting returned to its usual setting, and there was no mistaking the mood shift that had occurred. Confusion ran think through the air. I think even those who understood it had trouble understanding why it oddly made sense, while some simply couldn't wrap their heads around it. For starters, the turians, asari, salarians, and human were really the only races to have had some basic knowledge of the Reapers before the war, and even we were dumbfounded by this revelation. I could only imagine how some of the other races felt, coming into this with relatively no preconceptions or assumptions about our enemy.

I think the largest oddity of all was that Wrex remained rather silent amidst his bewildered counterparts, preferring to take time to process everything with absolutely no bias. I knew he was intelligent—or at least he had a greater capacity for rational thought than most of his species—but it was surprising to see how gracefully he handled the influx of intel. Rather than jumping right into a plan, it looked like he was weighing all the options with equal measure, including the fact that there might be no good option.

Honestly, I didn't care about anyone else. The asari and turians were already onboard—and if not, they soon would be—which meant that the volus didn't have much of a choice; the hanar didn't bring a whole lot to the table aside from their drell bodyguards, so in all honesty their support wasn't going to make or break this alliance; if I was right in assuming Shepard had spared the batarian Balak, she should be able to convince him to add their numbers to ours; and while the salarians were a wild card we hadn't done anything to piss them off yet, so hopefully they would see reason given that we had literally every other community in the galaxy at our side.

The krogan were my only concern. Wrex wasn't going to give an inch if his people weren't cured of the Genophage, and that certainly would piss the salarians off. Pride and intelligence often go hand in hand, and the salarians weren't going to admit that they'd made the wrong call all those years ago, nor were they going to admit that curing the Genophage was the right call now. But if we wanted krogan support—and let's be honest, we _needed_ them—it had to happen. Maybe between Kirrahe, Mordin, and Jondum Bau we could salvage some kind remnant of the salarian fleet.

"Well, ain't that a fuckin' party," Jack grumbled. I couldn't blame her. As necessary as it was, getting all these species and several centuries-old prejudices together in one room was not a good idea.

"Try to keep it civil, Jack," Miranda replied in her usual holier-than-thou way. "Remember we're here for negotiations, not to pick a fight."

"Negotiate my ass, princess. They didn't bring me here to cuddle up to the batarians, they did it so they can have me blow shit up. Why the fuck do you think they showed us that video? So we can all hold hands and sing Kumbaya?"

"They did it to show everyone what we're up against, so they all know what's going to happen if we fail."

God, I wished they'd both shut up. They were both much more tolerable in real life, especially Miranda (I hated everything about her in the game), but their incessant back and forth had been annoying right from the start. They'd kept themselves so busy arguing that I don't think they even knew who any of us were.

"Seems pretty tense," Troy said absently. As far as I was concerned, we were strictly there for observation, and each of us was performing that job to the letter. It's much easier to get a read on someone when you've seen them respond to different situations before, even if it was a third-party experience like in a video game.

It was only that that I noticed Hackett hadn't continued speaking, instead letting the room digest what they'd just seen while he, Garrus, and Shepard conversed privately by the projection table. Probably discussing what things had been like down there for Garrus and the marines he'd been holding out with.

"All we need to worry about is the salarians," I said quietly, not wanting to attract attention from the nearby krogan or hanar. "With a little persuasion and explanation I think most of the other races will see our side and want to help. But you know in order to do anything the krogan are going to want a Genophage cure, and the salarians aren't gonna like that."

"A cure?" Claire whispered from my right. "For the Genophage? That's impossible."

"It can be done. See the old salarian over there?" Troy asked, motioning toward Mordin. "Mordin Solus. He was one of the scientists that modified the Genophage to continue affecting the krogan, knows it better than almost anyone. He's been working with Urdnot Wrex and he's pretty damn close to a breakthrough. They'll just need help dispersing it once it's finished."

"Wow. You guys really are good at this information gathering business of yours."

There was a slight pang of guilt accompanying her sentence. Normally I don't give a shit about lying right to someone's face, but Claire meant more than that now. Whatever it was that happened the day before had made a connection between us, the kind that doesn't abide deceit simply because it's almost implied in the nature of the relationship that such a thing can't even exist. So of course, lying to her felt like running over the neighbor kid's dog on accident.

There would be another time to deal with that, though. We were in the middle of a pretty fucking historic occasion, and my attention needed to be singularly devoted.

"Thank you all for waiting," Hackett suddenly said, drawing attention to the fact that he'd finished his conversation with Shepard and Garrus. "Now, this is all we have on record, but we managed to extract a few members of the team that went on this operation, and there's a bit more to the story. I'll leave the rest of it to the latest addition to the Spectres, Garrus Vakarian."

Spectre? When the hell had that happened? I knew Garrus had once been considered for Spectre training years ago, but there had been no mention of him actually accepting a position. Perhaps he and the Council had seen the need for it once the Reapers arrived. Either way, he stepped forward, taking Hackett's place at the center of the room.

"It's pretty simple, really. Commander Shepard notified me of the mission, so I was brought in to lead the team that went to Jerusalem with the goal of finding out whether or not there was a possibility of peace with the Reapers. As you've seen, that's not the case with all of them. But it's my belief that there are some who would prefer a peaceful solution to the harvesting. In that video you saw one of them tell us that their ultimate goal is to create a Reaper that can actively manipulate dark matter in such a way that it would undo the natural end of the galaxy. After the end of the video, however, the Reapers initiated a form of stasis field, sending everyone alive at that point into an unconscious state so we could communicate more directly. From my interaction, it seems that there's at least one Reaper that believes we can stop this . . . galactic compression, on our own."

Holy. Fucking. Shit. He'd had the dream too? He'd spoken with the Reaper? I looked for Troy and Adison to see if they had as well, and it was clear just by the looks on their faces that they were just as surprised as I was.

We'd all had the same fucking dream.

I wasn't crazy! I damn near ran down to Garrus and hugged him out of sheer joy, but quickly realized how stupid and unprofessional that would look. Instead I settled for gritting my teeth and muttering "Fuck yes!" as silently as possible.

"So let me get this straight," Wrex said, still seated comfortably a few feet away. The man was a rock. "The Reapers told you that the universe is going to explode, and they want our help stopping it. And the Alliance believes it."

"We don't have much of a choice at this point," Hackett replied, stepping up to rejoin Garrus. "Our armies are being decimated. By my estimates the Council fleets are half of what they were a week ago, and even at full strength we didn't stand a chance against the Reapers. If there's an alternative to fighting a no-win scenario, we have to take it."

"You know better than most what this means, Wrex," Garrus added. "You have to realize that you can't just punch your way through this one."

"We've fought together, Garrus, and as much as I may fault your people for the genophage, you're the only turian whose company I don't mind." A grand compliment, coming from a krogan. "If the Alliance is going through with this plan, so be it. But my ancestors were made pawns in a war similar to this one, and I won't be the one to make that mistake again."

Troy shot me an uneasy look. _Here we go._

"Come on, Wrex," Shepard interjected. "This isn't the Rachni Wars; the krogan can't take on the Reapers by themselves. Hell, you can't even survive them. None of us can."

"Maybe not. But the krogan are a dead race either way. Why should it matter whether we get done in by the Reapers or the genophage?"

"Well, you called that one," Claire whispered.

"Yeah, for all the good it did," I replied. Knowing Wrex, we were going to have to make a trip to Tuchanka at some point. Assuming Mordin was close to finishing the cure, all we'd need to do was get it to the Shroud for dispersal. With Cerberus out of the picture the Reapers were the only thing standing in our way. And with any luck it would be as simple as getting past the Destroyer and into the building.

 _It's never that easy, dude._

"Wrex," Shepard called out softly, likely an attempt to ease Wrex's mind as well as let him down gently. "The galaxy is at stake here. We can't do anything about the genophage right now. Our efforts have to be focused on the Reapers."

"If an interjection may be allowed," Mordin's overly hyper voice sounded off. "Recent work with krogan yielded promising results. Will likely have solution before returning to Tuchanka. If Alliance is willing to provide assistance, cure for genophage quite achievable."

"Absolutely not!" the salarian dalatrass shouted from the other end of the room. I swear, half her party stood in outrage alongside her while the other half were dumbstruck, wondering whether or not she was going to tear Mordin apart with her bare hands. "The krogan can not be allowed to spread across the galaxy in a violent flood as they once did! The genophage was instituted for a reason! To undo it now would only be out of desperation!"

"Dalatrass," one of the turians said. I still couldn't really tell the Primarch apart from the Councilor yet. "Surely you must realize . . ."

"The krogan are vital to the war effort . . ."

"A blight upon society!"

It turned to chaos from there. Neither the hanar nor the batarians nor the volus seemed remotely interested in the argument, whereas the turians were all for it, the asari seemed split down the middle, and the salarians were largely against it. Valern, Kirrahe and Bau were the only salarians actually trying to talk sense into the dalatrass and the rest of their peers.

Really it all unfolded exactly as I imagined it would, aside from one small detail. While the rest of the krogan had joined in the festivities by yelling and screaming at the salarians, Wrex still sat motionless. Calm as ever, watching everyone's responses, gauging their opinions. Again, I knew he was far wiser than most of his species, but it was startling to see how much gravitas he seemed to exude. It was almost as if he'd brought up curing the genophage simply to see how many people were in favor or opposed.

Going by my own observations, the salarians were the only ones truly opposed to the idea. A few of the asari weren't quite on board with it, but that was simply because many of them had likely lived through the Krogan Rebellions or grown up shortly after. They knew what krogan were capable of without guidance. But at the same time most of them realized that if the krogan had been allowed to achieve space travel on their own, the Rebellions probably never would have happened. Instead they'd been given fire before they even knew it existed, and they did what humanity would have done under the same circumstances. They burned the forest down.

Everyone else seemed okay with the idea, if not uninterested. I don't think the batarians cared either way, or the volus or hanar. The turians seemed to truly recognize what humanity did: that the krogan had paid for their mistakes long enough and it was time to let them redeem themselves. If anything, the salarians were to blame for the Rebellions.

"Well this is fun," Jack said to no one in particular. "Let's all watch the politicians argue over whose dick is bigger while the galaxy's goin' to shit."

"You can't blame the salarians," Miranda replied. "If the krogan are cured it's likely they'd be their first targets. But on the other hand we can't do this without both of them."

"Yeah, it's a fuckin' stalemate, and neither one's givin' in. What do you guys think?"

It took me a minute to realize she was talking to us. My ears were focused on their conversation, but my eyes had been wandering from group to group, trying to figure out what the hell was happening and why Hackett was allowing it to continue.

"It's pretty fucked up," Troy told her, "but it's gotta be done. If the salarians don't like it, fuck 'em. I'd much rather have the krogan on our side."

"He-hey, I like this kid," Jack said laughingly. "You ever fought a krogan before?"

"No, thank God. We've seen enough shit from the Reapers."

"You fought the Reapers?" Miranda asked. The surprise was hard to miss, considering the disbelieving look on her face.

"That was us in Jerusalem," Troy replied, nodding toward the projection screen. "Some of the feed you saw was from our helmet cameras."

"No shit," Jack said playfully. "Look here, cheerleader, we got a couple of fuckin' heroes in our midst."

"Hardly," I grumbled, eyes still scanning the room, only vaguely interested in the conversation. To be honest, the only reason I even participated was because they were distracting me from actually paying attention. "We just survived it. And if we want to survive any more Hackett better get this shit under control and encourage some fucking cooperation."

"That's quite a bit of criticism for an Alliance soldier to be throwing at an Admiral," Miranda remarked.

"We're not Alliance. We're just here to provide intel."

"Intel?" she asked, again with that astonished voice that perfectly described her first impression of us. "What possible intel could you have that the Alliance doesn't already? You're, what, in your mid-twenties?"

I take back what I said about Miranda being more bearable in real life.

"Yep, and we know every detail about how you were created in a fucking test tube by your father, Miss Lawson. I really don't mean to be rude or an asshole, but I'm trying to pay attention to what the hell's going on while you and the psychotic biotic over here are holding your own private pissing contest and I can't help myself. So please, for the love of God, keep going. It's only the entire galaxy that's at stake."

For the briefest of moments I thought the two of them were about to open a new hole in space located directly on top of me, but something hit Miranda and she forced Jack to take a seat once more. Hooray for the prevailing of cooler heads, because mine was anything but.

"Feeling a little stressed, are we?" Claire said softly.

I didn't bother replying. I knew I was being a total dick, but that's part of who I am whether I feel good about myself or not. And seeing as it literally was the weight of the galaxy depending on the outcome of this meeting, I think everyone was willing to let it slide until this was all said and done.

The arguing had died down for the most part, confined to the salarians and the krogan on opposite ends of the room. Their stubbornness made it clear that neither side would be swayed, but strangely, the krogan still seemed like the logical ones to go with strictly by the demeanor of their leader. Whereas the salarians were being represented as stubborn, frightful children by the dalatrass and her supporters, I think the entire room knew that the krogan would fall in line with whatever course of action Wrex took. And going on his forbearance, that decision would be unbiased. The same couldn't be said for the salarians.

See, this is where it gets weird. The krogan can almost always be generalized into a specific stereotype, like an uneducated human boxer or an athlete who blew through college on an athletic scholarship. Not all of them are roided-out idiots with no thought aside from destroying anyone who opposed them, but it's usually a safe assumption. But Wrex was one of the few krogan who broke the mold. He'd had years to think about his people's culture and what the genophage had done to them; he'd probably considered, just as the salarians and everyone else had, what the krogan were capable of if they were allowed to breed normally.

He saw their potential, both good and bad. But when it came down to it, he didn't see it simply as an injustice done to his people that needed to be rectified. It was a question of morality. Practically neutering the krogan wasn't right in his mind, and he would more than likely say the same about any race if it had been done to them. It simply had to be undone. And if the universe was going to end, the krogan were dead either way. They had to have some reason to fight. They had to know that there was a future waiting for them after the Reapers.

This was all speculation, of course. You can't truly know a man simply by distant observation, you can only make informed guesses. But from what I knew of Wrex, I felt safe in my assumptions.

Fuck the salarians. Kirrahe, Valern and Bau would support us if no one else would, and I'd much rather have the walking tanks on our side rather than the feeble tech nerds. If only there was some way to pull Shepard and Hackett aside to tell them what I was thinking.

Or maybe they had already thought the same thing.

"Please," Hackett addressed the still-bickering groups. "If we can't have order in this room what chance do we stand against the enemy?"

"None, if curing the krogan is a strategy the Alliance is seriously considering," the dalatrass responded. God I hated her already. "It's too much of a risk, Admiral."

The krogan began rumbling anxiously, but Wrex stilled them with a wave of his hand as he finally stepped forward toward the center of the room.

"Dalatrass I'm aware of what the krogan did all those years ago. I understand your concerns. Hell, if it was up to any of these numbskulls—" and with that he motioned to the horde of pissed warmongers behind him "—the entire council would be at war as soon as we received the cure. But they're not in charge. I am. And as I said before, I don't intend to repeat the mistakes of my ancestors. The krogan aren't what they once were. Or at least, they won't be. I owe that to the legacy that's been laid out before me."

As if that awesome (and in the salarians' case, mouth-shutting) speech wasn't enough, Wrex then turned to address Shepard and Hackett.

"I promise you this. If this new council does decide to help the krogan, we will have your back the entire way. Hell, we might surprise you from time to time. But until then, we have nothing more to talk about."

And he walked out of the room, followed loyally by his ten or so comrades. The room settled into a contemplative quiet.

"Well, that seems about as good a place as any to take a breather," Hackett said. "Balak, there's a matter I need to take care of quickly and then I'd like to discuss a suitable agreement for your cooperation. It might also be wise for the Council to have a private session shortly, and of course, we need to address the drell, volus, and hanar contributions to this arrangement. So if everyone else is agreed, we'll meet back here at fourteen hundreds hours and resume."

No one objected, so I suppose that meant they all agreed.

I stood and began heading for my room. Two o'clock was at least four hours away.

"Not just yet, you three," Hackett added to my dismay. "There's something we need to take care of first."

* * *

I'd had no idea the station contained a medbay. Really I hadn't had much time to go exploring so it wasn't like I had expectations either way, but it still caught me by surprise.

It was nothing like the medbay on Normandy. Bigger, for one thing. No shining walls, although it was equally bright. Several medical loungers lined the wall on the far side accompanied by various machinery that I couldn't describe to you even if it was a doctor's room in 2016. Really the only other object in the room I could recognize was a desk where I assumed the head physician kept his or her notes, logs, etc. Everything else required a medical degree or at the very least a few years common experience in the future to understand how it functioned, neither of which I could lay claim to.

I had no idea why Hackett had sent us there, of all places. We could've gone back to our rooms or met him somewhere else or just stayed in the conference room while everyone cleared out. But he'd been very specific. Troy, Adison and I were to head to the medbay and wait for he and Claire. Again, no idea why she was involved.

I could say it also seemed odd that he was sending us to the medbay when the single greatest meeting of minds had just occurred a few doors down, but I was exhausted from all the debating and pretending like I belonged in that room. To be honest, at that point I didn't care. I was just along for the ride. Whatever the plan was, I'd do what Hackett wanted me to do, and throw in some advice here and there if I could. There wasn't much else to it.

"So . . . that happened," Troy said, probably as much to make conversation as to point out the fact that something so improbable had occurred. In a way it was just as jarring as what had happened in Jerusalem, only in a much less mind-fucking manner.

"Yeah," I replied. "First step, right? Aside from the salarians, that actually seemed to go all right."

"Were you not expecting it to?" Adison asked.

"Intergalactic politics never goes smoothly," Troy responded. "I'm surprised Hackett managed to get everyone in one room. I mean what the hell were the batarians doing there?"

"Shepard spared Balak's life, remember?" I asked. "She probably called in the favor, convinced him that he had to avenge his people."

"Right, right. God, there's so much shit to remember. And now we have to adapt that to what's happening now and try to see how it's all gonna unfold."

And the worst part was that there was too much to accomplish and not enough time. Tuchanka, Sur'Kesh, Rannoch, not to mention the smaller fires throughout the galaxy that would need tending. On top of all that we were supposed to work with the other races to come up with a plan to stop the end of reality so the Reapers would leave us the hell alone.

Not enough time.

 _I wonder when I'm gonna catch a break, or at least be able to breathe easier._

In reality, I wondered if Joel was talking literally about that one. He was a smoker too, and while I really did feel overwhelmed I could definitely go for a fresh breath of air. Maybe it was just the damn artificial environment Sentinel continually recycled so we didn't give away our position.

Oh, so maybe that was why we were here. Claire had said I'd need new lungs eventually. I guess if they were going to have us out there fighting Reapers it only made sense they'd want us at peak physical condition. No use for a soldier that coughs his way through half the battle.

"What do you think, Donz?" Troy asked me out of left field.

"About what?"

"What just happened in there. I mean Hackett's gonna help the krogan, right? He has to."

"Yeah, seems that way," I replied, pacing the medbay. "Between the Councilor, Captain Kirrahe and that Spectre I think we'll still get some support from the salarians, and if not fuck it. We really don't need them. It sounds harsh, but if the Reapers realize they're on their own you know they'll focus on salarian space, eliminate them while they're weakest. That should give us some time to regroup."

"But that's not our biggest problem," he said, hopping off the bed he'd perched himself on and stretching vigorously. "Even with the krogan on the team there's still all that shit going on with the geth and quarians. Not to mention all the small shit spread across half the galaxy."

"I thought about that, too. But with Cerberus out of the picture a lot of that should take care of itself. I mean, Jack is already here, Miranda seems to be doing fine. Hopefully it's the same story everywhere else."

"Which just leaves the Reapers to worry about," Troy finished the thought. "But do we _know_ Cerberus is done for? Did they ever find the Illusive Man? Because you know as long as that motherfucker's alive he can find a way to screw us over."

"We did," Hackett's voice shot from our left, along with the familiar sound of a door sliding open. Without warning he, Claire and Shepard entered the room, and I exchanged yet another meaningful look with Adison. We really had to stop discussing things so openly.

"Find him, that is," Hackett continued. "It would seem that after the destruction of the Citadel the Reapers turned their eyes on Cerberus' base of operations. It's a debris field, same as the Citadel. If the Illusive Man was there, he's gone now."

"But if he wasn't," I argued, because this was very much one of those circumstances where you have to see a body before you believe it, "he's probably with the Reapers. The man's indoctrinated, has been for God knows how long. He may not have his resources anymore and yeah, I might be paranoid, but if there's the slightest chance that he's still alive we need to be really fucking careful."

"Trust me," Shepard stepped in. With two words I knew she expected nothing less and was right there with me. "If he's alive, he won't be for long."

All I could do was nod.

"But all that aside," Hackett said, "I'd like to discuss a few things with you. The three of you have been pivotal to this war so far and I don't think anyone—even you—expected that. I apologize for not telling you the entire truth about your mission to Jerusalem, but I had to be cautious. I wasn't sure if you were indoctrinated or not. Obviously you aren't."

"Well no offense, but wasn't there any easier way to find out than sending us to get shot by a Reaper?" Troy asked.

"I admit it could've been handled better. But the intel we gained from the encounter was worth the risk. Plus you've proven that in addition to being an intelligence asset you work effectively as a combat unit. I don't know many people who could've escaped something like that intact."

High praise coming from a decorated Admiral. At least he wasn't suspicious anymore.

"So I assume we're going to Tuchanka at some point?" I asked to keep the conversation moving.

"Eventually. The Council is in agreement after the Citadel; the turians and asari are with us no matter what, and most of the other races don't have much choice in the matter. If we go down, so do they. But even with Valern advocating for union with the other races, the dalatrass is still urging the salarians against it."

"And she'll continue to do so until she's wiped out by the Reapers. Under no circumstances will she sit by while the krogan are cured of the genophage."

"It sounds like your mind's made up on the matter."

"We don't have much of a choice either. The salarians are good support units in combat and of course they're intelligence and inventive prowess are invaluable, but we don't need support in this fight. We need soldiers that can endure a shit ton of punishment and still keep fighting. If winning the krogan over means losing the salarians, I'd say it's better than the alternative."

Hackett's face formed a contemplative frown. "I agree. As I said, at some point we will be heading to Tuchanka. Hopefully with Doctor Solus's research and Wrex's cooperation, we can cure the krogan and get them fighting on the front lines."

"What about the geth and quarians?" Troy laid the question out as if they'd been a hot topic the entire time. "We're gonna need their support in this, too."

"I don't think that's possible," Shepard replied. "The quarians are a mess right now and they'd never agree to work with outsiders. Same story with the geth. Even if we could manage to get one on our side, we'd lose the other for sure."

"Not necessarily. You've seen both their cultures up close, Commander. The geth didn't want to go to war with the quarians, and they still don't. They're afraid of joining the galactic community because of how they were persecuted when they gained self-awareness. And the quarians—as much as they may hate the geth—have been misguided for generations. If the both of them can be shown that neither one wants to be enemies, we can be the guides for an agreement between them. Assuming it's not too late."

"Too late?"

 _Oh shit._

"The war has them a bit spooked," I stepped in, hoping to God I could find a way to explain it without saying too much. "The quarians have been working on a countermeasure to weaken the geth and take back Rannoch. If they attack and the geth realize they're screwed, it's more than likely they'll go to the Reapers for protection. They did it before, and as much as they don't want to, they'll do anything to protect what they've achieved. If we want to do this, it has to be soon."

Hackett stood at the end of the room stroking his goatee thoughtfully. The amount of pressure that guy had to be under, trying to unite a galaxy that should've needed no encouragement when faced with the threat of destruction. All I could do was be thankful that my job was just to offer advice and shoot things when they showed up.

"Well, that brings a whole new chair to the table," he said. "We've already got a lot on our plate at the moment. Assuming we can convince Balak to throw his support behind us, we still have the hanar and drell to speak to, and a meeting with Aria T'Loak which I'm sure the rest of the Council is going to crucify me for. Until then, however, I've asked Corporal Daniels to take care of a few of your medical issues."

"Issues?" Troy asked.

"If we're going to be doing field work, we have to be physically prepared for it," Adison explained.

"Shit," I breathed. "Gene enhancements?"

"Look at it this way," Claire said. "You already faced the Reapers and came out alive. Hopefully this will make you even more effective on the battlefield."

"Not to mention it's standard Alliance procedure," Hackett added. "I'm surprised you've been able to survive this far without the standard gene mods. Now you'll be faster, stronger, more resilient. The Reapers won't know what hit them."

I sighed. I was more than a little unclear on exactly what these enhancements entailed, but I remembered enough to know that the implantation process was anything but pleasant, and the recovery even less so.

"Well, we'll leave you in Daniels' capable hands. We'll keep you updated on any developments, and as soon as she tells me you're fully recovered you can expect a new field assignment. Now, Commander, let's go have a chat with the batarians."

And with that he and Shepard turned and exited the room, leaving Troy, Adison and I to wonder exactly how much we were going to hate the next few days.

I turned and headed to the other end of the room where the beds waited, knowing that Claire was going to have all of us take a seat. It had been at least ten years since I'd been to a doctor but I imagined it was the same drill. Sit down, shut up, and don't complain when they stab you with a big-ass needle.

"I'm assuming you all know the risks associated with genetic modification?" Daniels asked as she started busying herself preparing her equipment.

"Why don't you go over it real quick, just so we're on the same page," Adison requested.

"Well we're essentially inserting genetic material into your DNA, replacing what's there with a more enhanced version. It's like a software update. The enhancements will replace the genetic coding that tells your body how to perform certain actions with a new goal. In this case, we're going to be telling your skeletal and muscular structures to push themselves further. Like Hackett said, you'll be a hell of a lot more effective in the field this way. The downside is that some people's DNA doesn't like being told what to do. You'll more than likely experience nausea, cramps, soreness, and the occasional hour or two of excruciating pain while your bones continuously fracture and heal over to increase density. There have been a few setbacks in the past, but ninety-nine percent of patients come out of it with hardly any complaints."

"Did you have to go through all that?" I asked.

"Every soldier does, even medics. Give it a few days and you'll be glad you went through with the procedure."

"Yeah, it's just the time in-between that I'm worried about. Aren't there other enhancements, though? Not just strength and durability?"

"Sure, but those are expensive and take a bit more time to adjust to. And the chances of severe side-affects are much more pronounced with specialized gene mods."

One look between Troy, Adison and myself, and we were all on the exact same page. We were already in for at least a few days of discomfort just to be able to survive; what was a little added suffering to increase our chances of becoming badasses?

"What else you got?"

Claire looked at each of us briefly, and I think she knew the mischievous thoughts behind our eyes. "There's not a whole lot here. I don't think Hackett ever expected to need them."

"If there's something else that'll help, we'll take it," Troy said.

"Like I said, there's not much, but…" her voice trailed off and her thoughts followed with it. "I think there's something you in particular might find useful."

Troy smirked. "Strap me in."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:**_ Okay guys, back at it again! The chapter I've been talking about for the last three chapters is finally here! Now I know not everyone got a lot of attention or even a line in the chapter, but with so much happening I had to prioritize and move the story forward while introducing some of the characters that are going to play a role in the future. Not everyone that was present for the meeting will continue to be in the story, but a few will and rest assured they will be properly introduced eventually. For now, there's some good shit coming.

I think what excited me most about writing this chapter is that we finally have a solid plot. For the first eight chapters we definitely had a story to tell and a plot to set up, but now we actually know what has to happen before the end of the book. The characters have been faced with their ultimate goal and have a kind-of-but-not-really clear course of action. Now it's just a matter of achieving the endgame.

 **general-joseph-dickson:** Glad you enjoyed it! And thanks for sticking around! I know my updates have been irregular to say the least, but hopefully that will change soon.

 **Toothless is best:** That's awesome! I really put a lot of myself into this chapter knowing that it would be rough, but with the hope that someone could identify with it. I'm happy you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

 **Lord Dream:** Good! That's what I was going for. At that point Troy and Donovan aren't soldiers, so it wouldn't be logical for them to have perfect clarity during something like that. They've got fear and adrenaline and emotion tearing them in seven different directions, so rushed and sloppy are exactly what I want the reader to feel. As for the rest of your comment, I enjoy concrit when it's useful, but it seems like you're just being hateful. I write this story for myself and the people who enjoy it, and I apologize if I'm misinterpreting, but if you just want to hate on my story don't read it. I'm cool either way.

Okay guys, so I'm kind of back into regular updates now, and I really want to hit 100,000 words before the end of March, so I should be posting at least once a month from now on. If not, just spam my inbox until I finally write a new chapter :)

Oh, by the way, I've started a YouTube account! I'll be posting Let's Plays of Skyrim SE, Fallout 4, and The Witcher 3 for Xbox One, and eventually Andromeda when it comes out, so check it out if that's something that interests you. I don't have a decent webcam yet but my mic is awesome and the quality isn't bad for a console vid. Let's take over the internet in the name of Shadow!

*Ahem* No not really, but if you guys like fantasy games, mods, and a dork talking about video games, check it out. (/EndShamelessPlug)

So that's it for now! As always, thank you guys for the faves, follows and views! Seriously, we hit an all-time record with the last chapter, you guys are amazing! I'll catch you all next time!


	10. Chapter 10

Patience was not something the krogan people were accustomed to, and Urdnot Wrex was no exception. He'd agreed to a meeting with the other races because he was trying to change that, and because Shepard had proven herself to be more dependable than his own family ever had. The fact that he had sat in the same room with the leaders of both the turian and salarian people for an hour was a testament to those facts.

But his patience was wearing thin.

"Where the hell are we going, Garrus?" Wrex asked as they strolled through the winding halls of this never-ending station. "There's no point in any more meetings until the Council gets their heads out of their asses."

"It's not much further, Wrex," the turian replied. "I'm pretty sure you'll like what you see. Or at least, you'll like what it represents."

Anticipation was also not something krogan handled well. Before battle it could be useful to block out everything aside from the upcoming blood rage, but generally it just made you paranoid, preparing for the worst.

"If this is some symbolic gesture from the Council, save both our time."

Garrus's mandibles flexed slightly, suppressing a light chuckle. "It may be symbolic at first, but believe me it's a very real, very useful gesture."

They rounded yet another corner and found themselves in a dead-end hallway.

"I don't like what's implied here."

"Why don't you look out the window before you start making assumptions."

Wrex turned, finding the window on his left that no one would have possibly noticed unless they knew it was there. No larger than a human's head, it barely offered a glimpse of space beyond the rocky exterior of the asteroid the station was built into. The Charon Relay was just barely visible, emitting a faint blue glow through the void. Somewhere out there the Reapers were gliding through the star system planning their eventual conquest of the galaxy.

But what interested Wrex was the gleaming metal of what looked like a ship's hull. It wasn't the Normandy—he knew that because they'd retreated to a less occupied area until needed—and it couldn't be any other standard vessel. No one else had a cloaking mechanism and the IFF to avoid the Reapers.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" Garrus asked.

"It might be if I could see more of the damn thing."

"The downside of hiding in an occupied system. The Alliance couldn't risk someone seeing a huge chunk of glass on a deserted asteroid, so this is the best we've got."

"I'm a krogan, Garrus, not an idiot."

"Well, sometimes they go hand in hand," the turian replied smugly. "Seeing as I've been made a Spectre now, the Council thought it only made sense for me to have a vessel of my own. She's top of the line, designed using Normandy's specs to serve as both a frontline warship and a stealth vessel capable of moving assets during Reaper occupation without attracting attention. This is our solution, Wrex. My first mission as a Spectre will be helping you cure the genophage."

He was serious. Wrex had spent enough time with Garrus to know that he only embellished for comic effect or to manipulate someone he didn't respect—someone who would eventually end up with a hole in their head. He knew how important this was, and that he would lose all trust if he wasn't completely honest, which meant the Council had decided to act without salarian support and with the risk of losing it altogether.

Maybe they _had_ started getting their heads out of their asses.

"I know it's not exactly a fleet of dreadnoughts, but—"

"Thank you, Garrus."

The turian blinked, taken off-guard. It wasn't often that a krogan showed appreciation, even to the people closest to them, and it was a strange feeling. Wrex had spent the majority of his life distancing himself from everyone around him simply because his people held such resentment toward the rest of the galaxy. Maybe it was genetic.

And maybe now things could be different.

"You're not going to hug me now, are you?" Garrus asked. Sarcastic bastard. "I would offer to do that headbutt thing you krogan do, but that probably wouldn't end well for someone with such a pretty face."

"Save all that emotional crap until you see the quarian," Wrex replied. If he wasn't mistaken, Garrus's mandibles flexed awkwardly, and Wrex couldn't resist a satisfied laugh. "And here I thought Shepard was the only one fraternizing with her crew."

"I'm surprised you even noticed," Garrus deflected. "I thought the only emotion krogan felt was rage. Anyway, we'll be needing a crew. I assume you've got a few ideas for ground troops?"

More than a few, and not just ground troops. Most people thought the only thing krogan were good for was fighting, but there were a rare few that broke the mold. At one time they had been just as enlightened as any culture. Though it had taken him years to find them, Wrex now had seventeen pilots, forty-nine engineers, twelve doctors and thirty-seven maintenance workers in clan Urdnot alone. Granted it may not have been much compared to the thousands that other races had, but it was progress. Enough to help aboard a single starship, at least.

"A few," was Wrex's short reply. "But I'm guessing the Council doesn't want their ship overrun with krogan."

"Everyone's getting in on this. Half the reason there were so many special operatives in that meeting is because they all knew we were putting together a task force for critical assignments."

"Salarians?"

Garrus picked up on Wrex's discontent easily enough. "Not many. The dalatrass isn't happy with us right now, but the Councilor still has some pull and believe it or not there are some salarians who agree with you. Don't worry, Mordin's weeding out the ones that don't meet his expectations."

Mordin. Wrex wasn't sure whether to trust the shifty bastard or kill him, but he'd done nothing to earn the latter yet. Hell, if the pipsqueak could really come through on his end of the bargain Wrex might just have to name his firstborn after him.

"And the Alliance?" he asked. "They put all this together. I'd think they would want to see it through."

"Well, Shepard has her hands tied at the moment," Garrus answered. "But yeah, the Alliance is in. They're sending some of their best with us."

"They better be. I don't need to tell you I'm not happy that Hackett's sending Shepard to make nice with the geth while we drive the Reapers off Tuchanka."

"Trust me, Wrex," Garrus said with a smirk. "I've seen three of them in action. They aren't even military and they held their own. I can only imagine what the rest are capable of."

Through the miniscule window to the void Wrex could just barely see a streak of light pass by, reflecting off the hull of the ship Garrus was so proud of. He'd never been superstitious and krogan hadn't practiced religion since before they blew themselves to hell, but for the first time in decades he felt a spark of hope.

Krogan don't feel hope.

"Well what are we standing here for?" he asked. "Let's go save my people."

* * *

After six hours of negotiations, Ella Shepard had had enough. Hell, the first six seconds of talks with the batarians had made her want to vent the room into space, herself included. She understood their hesitation, of course—whereas most of the Council races were merely bogged down in heavy fighting, Khar'shan had been completely eradicated, leaving only a few small batarian colonies and spacefarers—but she had thought that would bring more motivation to the surface than reluctance. If the batarians didn't ally with the rest of the galactic community, they were certain to go extinct. But pride is a powerful thing when left unchecked, and Balak had enough of it to sink a dreadnought.

Luckily Ella had decided not to put a bullet in his brain when he'd tried to crash an asteroid into Terra Nova, otherwise it would've no doubt been a much more difficult conversation with someone who didn't owe her one. He hadn't seen it that way, of course, because in his mind the batarians were the ones who had been oppressed into giving up territories that they believed were theirs, and evidently that justified mass genocide. The old "woe is me" excuse.

But in the end, what really mattered was the fact that the batarians had no choice in the matter. They'd come to Sentinel under the illusion that they could say no, but Hackett had no intention of allowing them to leave until they agreed. Anyone who had seen the N7s waiting outside the door would've known that, but the batarians weren't known for being the brightest.

So, six hours later, Balak finally caved. Between Ella reminding him exactly how badly it could all end for the batarians and Hackett attempting to instill some inspiration, he had to give in. Whether Balak was just a fanatic or he truly cared about his people, he was the ranking officer of the Hegemony, and the only chance he had to right the supposed wrongs done to the batarians was to live another day. As stubborn as he was, he knew the only way to do that was to go along with the Council.

Ella had never been so happy to leave a room.

"God, that man is insufferable," Hackett breathed as soon as they left the meeting. The doors probably hadn't even closed yet, and Ella thought Hackett didn't really care either way.

"Did we really even need him?" Ella asked. "There aren't many batarians left. I doubt their contribution is going to make much of a difference."

Hackett answered by lifting a brow and heading down the hall toward central control. "It's true the batarians don't have much in the way of numbers, but what's left of their armies is the upper echelon. Black ops soldiers, intelligence assets, commandoes; doesn't matter what race they are, we can always use people like that."

"Batarians have a black ops program?"

"Honestly I was more shocked by the intel. Not much we can use against the Reapers, but damn do I know things about Councilor Tevos that I really shouldn't know."

Ella decided not to poke for specifics on that one. As much as it felt like the weight of the world was on her shoulders, Hackett and the Council were the ones running the show. She was just a soldier. Hackett would provide her with any intel relevant to her mission and the rest she really didn't care to know. Life was complicated enough already.

"I'm just ready to get back in the action," Ella commented absently. "Don't get me wrong, everything happening here is important, but I don't feel like I'm being useful unless I've got a gun in my hand."

Hackett chuckled at that. "I'd expect nothing less of you, Shepard. Don't worry, you'll be back out there soon enough."

They stopped walking—or Hackett did; Ella was just following him—only to find themselves in front of a two-way mirror looking into one of the station's private quarters. At first Ella thought nothing of it. They had a large number of guests at Sentinel and some of them surely needed to be under watch at all times. But when she looked further and saw who they were watching, her attention and curiosity immediately snapped to life.

"You've been watching them since they got back?" she asked Hackett. The Admiral nodded.

"A security precaution, in case they came back indoctrinated. And once they'd agreed to undergo the transplant process it seemed prudent to be able to keep an eye on them without invading their illusion of privacy."

Disappointment beat back Ella's curiosity for a moment. She couldn't say she had no trust for them or respect for how useful they'd been so far, but there was still that nagging voice in the back of her head. Something was off, and she'd hoped Hackett would've felt it too.

"That's all?" she asked. "Watching them in case the side-affects get too severe?"

Hackett weighed her question before giving her a knowing look. Despite what some people think, to get to the position of Admiral you have to be a pretty smart person. Smart enough to know how to stay alive in insane situations and how to deal with the bureaucratic bullshit every soldier eventually goes through. And when you apply those particular intellectual abilities to reading the people around you, you get pretty damn good at it.

So he knew what Ella meant despite how hard she'd tried to make her question seem sincere.

"You still have reservations about them."

"You don't?" she replied in question. "They showed up out of nowhere with information no one else in the galaxy had and they've risked their necks too many times to prove their innocence. You have to be either suicidal or trying to convince someone to put yourself in that much danger."

Hackett chuckled. "So who are you trying to convince, Shepard?"

She had to give him that one.

"If it eases your mind at all, I'm still planning to keep a close eye on them," the admiral continued. "To be honest, I fully expected they were Reaper agents up until that meeting. When they first came to Sentinel and we still weren't attacked, I thought to myself it must have been a fluke. That the Reapers were waiting for bigger game. But when everyone showed up for the conference was when they earned my trust. If they really were our enemies, they could have taken out the entire galaxy's leadership in one fell swoop. Twelve hours later and we're all still here."

A good point, but Ella had never said they were indoctrinated or even Reaper agents. All she knew was that there was some deception in the air, large enough for her to be wary of it. They didn't have to be enemies in the common sense of the word to undo everything the Alliance and the Council were working toward.

"You're probably right," Ella sighed. "There's just . . . something. I can't put my finger on it."

"Don't worry about it, Shepard. If anything goes wrong you know you'll be the first to get the call."

Naturally. Anytime something went wrong she was always the first to know. Despite how often she gave advice to _prevent_ something from going wrong, her opinion was never called for until after the fact.

But that was just her mind still focusing on its vexation over the meeting with the batarians, and she knew it. Hackett was a reasonable man, and she knew her concerns played a part in his decision-making process. If he had anything else to substantiate them with he would do something about it, but for now he simply had to trust his better judgment and make use of the assets that had presented themselves.

"So I assume you're not going to let the new implants go to waste," she said, continuing the conversation despite her reservations.

"It would be foolish of me to outfit three soldiers for combat and not deploy them," Hackett replied. "I'll have to speak with the Council again, but seeing as humanity was really the only race to prepare for the Reaper invasion they're deferring to our judgment on any issue that doesn't directly involve their own battles."

"They're going on a joint-species operation?" That was certainly unexpected, especially considering that they hadn't been soldiers until a few days ago.

"The Council's putting together a team to deal with the krogan situation while you and yours reach out to the geth and quarians. It seemed natural to include them in at least one operation."

"Then make it mine," Ella said rather forcefully. "Wrex isn't going to like them if they do that thing they do."

Hackett chuckled. "You really take issue with them, don't you?"

"The krogan are paranoid enough already, they won't like it when three humans show up at their door and start telling them all their darkest secrets."

"They've only put on their displays to earn trust. They're smart. Information is only divulged when it presents an opportunity, and never any more than is absolutely necessary. I don't think there will be an issue. Besides, we're not going to be giving them much of a chance to talk; Garrus is leading the strike team, alongside half a dozen other elite operatives. The cousins are going along for intelligence and combat purposes only."

"And it doesn't bother you that they're not telling us everything?" Ella knew she was pressing the matter far beyond normal, but she couldn't stop herself. Not a single person had stepped up to back her when she first tried to warn the galaxy about the Reapers. Same story with the Collectors. It just wasn't logical that they would come forward now with no other motive.

"Of course it bothers me, Shepard," Hackett replied. He was tiring of this back-and-forth and likely wouldn't have dealt with it from anyone else, so at east Ella could take comfort in that fact. "But they probably have a lot of information that we wouldn't find useful until precisely the right moment. When something's relevant, they'll let us know."

"I just don't think they should make that decision. They're not military, how do they know they're not overlooking some small detail?"

"What do you want me to do, Shepard? Beat it out of them?" If Ella wasn't mistaken, a flash of irritation ran across Hackett's eyes. She'd pushed too far. " _If_ they are conspiring against us and _if_ they have information they're not sharing with us, we're not going to get it by locking them in a holding cell. Their intel has been good so far, and I'm not going to risk losing it by showing mistrust. We include them in our missions and yes, I'm putting them on Garrus's team because they've worked with him already. And sticking them with someone who will second-guess their every move isn't going to do anyone any good."

Ella wasn't sure what to say. She'd never heard Hackett raise his voice, let alone display a full-on emotion like anger. Granted it was subtle and he was controlling it very well, but when someone manages to keep a cool head as much as Hackett did even the smallest outburst was like watching a fireworks show.

"I understand, sir," was all she could think to say.

Hackett sighed. "I'm sorry, Shepard, that was unprofessional."

 _Honestly, I've done a hell of a lot worse than that in front of civilians, let alone military personnel._

"I understand what you must be going through," he continued. "You've been beating your fists bloody for damn near three years about the Reapers and only now is anyone beginning to do anything about it. Given that you were the only person in the entire galaxy to receive that message from the beacon, it's only natural that you wouldn't trust these three. But this isn't the time to make new enemies. We're taking help from anyone who offers it, and if they prove unreliable, we'll deal with it when the time comes. That's just how we have to play this one."

As much as she didn't like it, Ella actually could understand that one. She'd made more than her fair share of moral compromises during the hunt for Saren and taking down the Collectors afterward. Working for Cerberus had been the right call—they were the only ones willing to operate in the Terminus and she'd needed their resources—but overall it was an ambiguous decision at best. She couldn't very well judge anyone else for their actions.

Her gaze returned to the two-way mirror, and through it, the young man Anderson had found on earth. Adison. Ella hadn't had much interaction with any of the three mysteries. It was entirely possible she only had reservations because she didn't know them. Very few people had ever trusted her implicitly before they'd met her.

Regardless, Hackett's mind was made up. There was no point questioning him other than to convey her concerns, and she'd achieved that. Now it was time to move on.

"I understand, sir," she repeated. "No further concerns."

"Good," Hackett replied, taking a deep breath. "Now, there's a lot more negotiating to be done, and God knows this war is far from over. How long has it been since you've spoken to your quarian and geth counterparts?"

Tali and Legion. Ella hadn't heard from either of them in over six months. That tends to happen when you hand yourself over to go on trial for treason.

"Not since I turned myself in. Last I heard, they both went back to their people. I don't know if either of them would be agreeable to a meeting."

"Well we'll soon find out. Reach out to them, see what you can do. It'll take you a day or so to get to Rannoch, so Normandy's been cleared for re-entry to the system. I want you and your team out there as soon as possible."

Ella smirked and began walking down the hall. "Anything to get away from the politics."

"Shepard," Hackett called after her. "Try not to shoot your way through this one. We _need_ the geth and quarians."

"I promise," she replied, half-jokingly. "Let's just hope we can get there before the Reapers do."

 _As if._

* * *

Six days after the implantation process I was finally starting to feel somewhat normal. There's not much use in attempting to describe what we all went through during that time because I'm sure no one in history has ever been through such a thing, but for the sake of entertainment I believe I can convey the general feeling in a single sentence.

It was hell.

I spent the first two days slipping in and out of consciousness while my body adapted to the changes that had forced their way into my DNA structure, and even those rare moments of lucidity were clouded by unbearable pain and sickness. Not only could I feel my bones breaking and healing over, but the sensation quickly spread to my muscles and organs as well. If you work out occasionally or have a physically demanding job you'll know the familiar feeling of soreness that accompanies a rough day. Now imagine instead of working out for an hour you'd spent six weeks straight on a salmon ladder. Needless to say, my body felt like it was on fire and being crushed by an elephant at the same time.

And that just from the standard mods. In addition to the physical enhancements, Troy, Adison, and I had all received different implants based on our individual skillsets: Troy had chosen the Hawkeyes implant, which would—as its name implied—increase his depth of field, visual range, and precision far beyond normal; Adison had taken a neural interface implant that would allow him to literally be linked to his weapons and armor via his synapses, allowing him to fire his gun or redirect power to specific armor systems with a simple thought; and I had picked the SAER package. The abbreviation stood for Situational Awareness and Enhanced Reflexes, but as Claire informed me, most Alliance soldiers commonly referred to it as the 'Seer.' Troy was quick to point at that he deserved the title more if we were going on a literal basis.

I suppose if I had put more thought into it, I could've predicted a few of my symptoms before they began to surface. Aside from the horrifying pain that racked our bodies from the common implant, we'd all experienced different side-affects due to the specialized packages. I seem to recall Troy had problems adjusting to his sight once the Hawkeyes kicked in, Adison was in his room for three days complaining about migraines, and I could barely move due to all the additional sensory input I was getting.

What Claire failed to tell us was that these weren't just combat improvements; they were active all the time, even when we didn't want them to be. She would come to check on each of us every day, and each time she opened my door I could see, hear, smell, taste, and feel everything within fifty meters. Yeah, I said taste and feel, too. Taste isn't just when a solid object touches your tongue—it extends to the very molecules in the air. Same went for touch. Though I couldn't actually tell what anything was yet, I could distinguish every different particle in the air due to all five of my senses kicking into overdrive.

Of course, that was just the first week. After four days the side-effects began wearing off, and while I could still sense the difference when I walked from one room to another, it was nowhere near as confusing as it had been immediately following the implantation.

But that wasn't even mentioning the enhanced reflexes. The standard Alliance gene mod package contained a reflex booster, and throwing the Seer on top of it was incredible. Claire had tried to serve me lunch once, accidentally spilled a container of pasta off the side of my shelf, and before a single shell hit the ground I had them all stacked neatly next to the oven. I felt like freaking Spider-Man.

And did I mention the physical effects of the implants? Excruciating pain, yes, but the augmentation increased our bone and muscle density, which means we must have gained at least fifty pounds of sheer bone and muscle. I didn't notice it until the third day when I was finally coherent enough to go take a shower, and upon entering I saw that the ceiling was considerably closer to my face than before. A quick bio-scan afterwards confirmed that I'd grown at least four inches. And here I'd thought puberty was well behind me.

But, after six days, it was all said and done. The implants were in, our bodies were relatively accustomed to them, and Claire had told us we were cleared to return to duty. But first, a solid meal. Or twelve.

There wasn't exactly a cafeteria on Sentinel so much as a disinterested chef that couldn't heat up a frozen meal without spectacularly ruining it, so we'd settled for turning Troy's private quarters into a small banquet hall before we reported to Hackett. We didn't have much in the way of food, seeing as we'd polished off all the good stuff (along with most of the alcohol) our first night back after Jerusalem, but we were so hungry at that point we could eat anything. As long as it wasn't from the chef. Spaghetti, macaroni, assorted vegetables and oddly enough mashed potatoes made a decent meal for three people to celebrate to.

Well, for a few minutes, anyway.

We'd barely finished our first round of food when we each got separate omni-tool alerts telling us to grab any gear we needed and meet up at the armory. I'd thought they'd give us at least another day or so to get used to the mods, but apparently war waits for no man. Used to it or not, we were heading out on an assignment.

I returned to my quarters, leaving Troy to gather his things and Adison to head back and do the same, and quickly began grabbing anything and everything I'd need. Really there wasn't much; my jeans, my BAAO shirt which had washed out fairly nicely all things considered, my jacket, and a few essentials were all stuffed inside a duffle within seconds, which only left Invidium and my sidearm. I holstered the pistol in my new fatigues, courtesy of the Alliance seeing as my clothes wouldn't fit anymore, and Invidium was remarkably easier to transport even using one hand. Again, thank you, gene mods.

Troy and Adison were already standing outside their rooms when I went back into the hallway, weapons in hand. Hopefully the Alliance was going to get us some new armor, otherwise any confrontation would end quickly.

"You ready bro?" Troy asked.

I shook my head to one side. "Let's go."

The armory wasn't far. While the station itself was massive considering how small the asteroid appeared on the outside, getting around was a simple matter. In addition to the existence of color-coded signs leading to the various areas of Sentinel, our omni-tools had synced with the station's systems, ensuring we had only to look at a virtual map if we somehow got lost. Two or three minutes' worth of walking had us in the armory.

Weapons and armor crowded the entire room, whether on display, at a workbench undergoing some kind of modification, or being fabricated by machines so complex there was no chance I'd ever understand how they worked. Sentinel was where all the Alliance's secret projects were conceived, after all. There wasn't a piece of hardware in the room that didn't scream "experimental."

Hackett was there waiting along with a few technicians I'd seen around the station, all crowded around a group of armor displays at the far end of the room. When the door slid closed behind us they turned to welcome us inside.

"Gentlemen," Hackett said. "It seems that the implants went in well enough. How are the side-affects?"

There was something in his voice, something I couldn't place. He'd said he couldn't possibly doubt us anymore after Jerusalem, but . . . was it second thoughts? Normally talking to Hackett was like talking to a mother whose child had just been diagnosed with cancer. It was clear there were more important things on his mind but he knew he had to compartmentalize and devote his attention equally, no matter how much he wanted to focus on one thing.

This time, he was distracted.

"We're okay for the most part," Adison answered.

"Good. You've been out of commission for a while now, and a lot has changed even in that short time. We've managed to pull support from all the major players with a few exceptions."

 _Gee, lemme guess._

"The krogan and salarians?" I asked.

"That's who you'll be concerning yourselves with. The Council has put together a team with the purpose of curing the genophage. They're going to Tuchanka, and I'd like you three to accompany them."

Now that was unexpected. Send us on a mission, sure, let us help out in some useful way, but I'd thought Hackett would have wanted us to stay close by. Easier to keep an eye on us that way.

"You're serious?" Troy said, really more of a statement than a question.

"You'll be under Garrus's supervision," Hackett continued, not skipping a beat, "accompanied by a handful of the galaxy's best operatives. You don't have any official rank with the Alliance or any affiliation whatsoever with the Council, so your part in this assignment will be intel and combat support. Show them what you can do out there and Garrus will put you where your skills best stand out."

Great, so we were going into the belly of the beast as complete rookies next to a bunch of seasoned veterans. That wasn't going to cause any problems at all.

"Sounds good, sir," Adison replied. Of course he wouldn't mind. Troy and I were undisciplined in that regard; neither of us much liked taking orders. Adison, on the other hand, was more used to it. He may not have liked it, but being a police officer tends to make you a bit more patient than most.

"Well now that you know what your assignment is, you'll be needing new armor. This is top of the line military gear, hasn't even begun mass production yet. We've got five suits. Three of them are going to you."

Hackett stepped aside, allowing us a first unobstructed glimpse at the experimental armor. At first glance it didn't look special; in fact, it looked terrible. The plating was so blindingly white it actually hurt a little to look at it. The non-armored pieces visible at the joints looked like they were made of some kind of ballistic cloth, and the helmet was reminiscent of standard N7 gear. Smoother, I suppose, probably using a more durable material, but generally the same.

"What do you think?" one of the techs asked with a way-too-obvious smile.

"It's…very white," I replied.

"Well you can change that later. The armor components are a titanium-dipped triweave nanocomposite—similar coating to the Silaris hull plating developed by the asari. It'll stop everything short of a ten-second burst from a Capital ship. The under-layer is a cross between ballistic and expandable carbon fibers. The shield emitters are almost impossible to crack, the kinetic servos will increase your mobility, and it comes with an assistive propulsion device. You can cross large gaps in the battlefield easily or take a drop from low-atmo without needing to bend gravity with a mass effect drive."

I didn't understand half of what he said, but it sounded impressive. Troy and Adison must have been on the same page, because no one said anything.

"You'll essentially be ten times harder to kill," the tech explained. "More mobility than any other soldier on the battlefield, almost as durable as a krogan."

"And you're giving it to _us_?" I asked, addressing the question to Hackett while still staring at the armor.

"The operatives we have on-site were given specific training utilizing the equipment they have now," he replied. "It would take months to retrain them that we simply don't have. You three present a unique opportunity in that you've never had any formal training. You can acclimate to the armor systems better than most, and yes—" at this point he addressed Adison "—it will work with your implant. You may have an easier go of it."

"So we're the test group," Adison commented. "First in line to see if the armor will do what you think it will."

"I'm all right with that," Troy added. "Besides, it's not like we can be picky since our last armor got disintegrated."

I didn't realize how long I'd been staring at the armor until a friendly tap on the shoulder caused me to look away. I'd heard someone enter the room of course, due to my senses being dialed to eleven thanks to the Seer, but I'd failed to give thought to who that might be.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Claire asked.

I turned back to the armor for a moment. It really did look as impressive as the tech made it sound. Solid inch-thick armor for the chest plate, shoulders, and legs, with thinner overlapping components on the arms and abdominal region for freedom of movement. If it was as indestructible as they claimed, it would make any wearer a mobile powerhouse.

"I feel like I should have killed a lot more Reapers in order to deserve something like this," I answered honestly.

"Well what does that say about me, then?" Claire returned playfully.

It took me a moment to connect the dots. If I'm not part of the conversation I usually do pretty well picking up on implications, but not so much if I'm in the moment.

"You're…wait, you're going to Tuchanka?"

"Don't act so surprised. I'm pretty good with a gun too, you know."

Well, add that to the ever-growing list of shit I wasn't expecting. Not that I didn't want Claire to go with us, but I hadn't expected _her_ to want to go after what happened to Sorola. She may have been a soldier, but she hadn't joined the Alliance to shoot a gun; she'd signed up to fix the guys who got hurt doing so. Tuchanka was going to be nothing but people getting hurt fighting the Reapers.

Maybe it was a bit selfish of me. My more protective side didn't want her to go simply because it was going to be the most dangerous shit we'd faced yet. But I knew Shepard was out there risking her life and it didn't bother me. The same could be said of any of the millions of individuals across the galaxy just trying to stay alive. Why should it be any different just because I had an emotional connection to Claire?

A meaningless question. Emotion always trumps logic until you can convince yourself to let logic take over. Claire had every right to accompany us and I knew there was no point trying to convince her to stay at Sentinel. She'd never sit back and twiddle her thumbs knowing we were more than likely going to need a medic's services.

Still, why did it bother me so much?

"Well, now you know what your mission is," Hackett said, jarring me from my thoughts. "And you have the equipment to get it done. Now I suppose you'll need to know how you'll be getting there."

"Normandy isn't dropping us off?" Troy asked before I managed to put the sentence together.

"Not quite," Hackett replied with a bit of a gleam in his eye. "Follow me."

* * *

Her name was the Evanescent. Although building her was a secret Council project, she was primarily funded and produced by the Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy, which meant that not only was she an absolute beauty to behold, but she was similar in almost every technical regard to the Normandy. FTL speeds capable of outrunning a Reaper, eezo core that could keep us cloaked even during atmospheric re-entry, and producing a threat equivalent to ten standard Alliance frigates. Between the cloaking device, the strengthened kinetic barriers, the reinforced hull plating, and twin Thanix cannons, she could blow holes through two or three frigates and jump to another star system before anyone knew what had hit them. It still wouldn't be a smart idea to go head-to-head with a Reaper Capital ship, but in just about any other fight she'd at least hold her own.

Hackett had left us at the landing pad in Sentinel with the assurance that we would be informed of any crucial developments while we were gone, and that Shepard would be in contact soon seeking any intel we had on the geth or quarians. In the meantime, we just had to settle in and prepare for Tuchanka.

I didn't speak the entire time. We left Sentinel by shuttle and entered the Evanescent via her hangar bay, and not a word escaped my mouth during the flight. My eyes were so fixated on the ship itself that I couldn't focus on anything else. The design, like everything else, was inspired by the Normandy, but there were a few distinctions. Rather than four extendable propulsion drives, Evanescent streamlined the process by boasting two sizeable rear drives and a single central propulsion mechanism. I had no idea what exactly that meant in terms of speed or maneuverability, but it looked cool as hell.

In addition to the engines, there were also noticeably more secondary weapons than I'd ever seen on Normandy. Two modest cannons adorned both the dorsal and ventral section of the hull as well as several smaller independent turrets along the sides of the vessel, adding up to a total of eleven offensive weapons.

She wasn't just a stealth ops vessel. We could pack one hell of a punch if need be.

I wondered how long the Council had been putting this together. It had to be a decent chunk of time, considering how long it took to build the original Normandy.

Either way, we landed in the hangar bay and, once the room had pressurized, we were greeted by Garrus and at least six more of his crew. Only one was human. We really were on a Council-sanctioned operation. Reality sank in that despite what we'd seen so far, it was about to get much, much worse.

It was easy to see that Garrus was a bit overwhelmed by the demands of his new position. He handled it all with extreme gravitas, but he'd never had his own command. That had always been Shepard's role, and he was doing his best to be that for this crew. Shit, we hadn't even set off yet and the stress was rearing its head.

After a minute of pleasantries Garrus excused himself to go take care of another matter, leaving us in the capable hands of Evanescent's VI, Vigor. Humanity got to name the ship, so turians claimed the VI, I suppose. Although EDI's existence was commonplace for Shepard and her crew, AI research was still illegal in Council space, which meant no EDI for us. Still, after seeing her in action the Council must have realized how useful it was, and a VI was the next best thing. All the processing power, none of the free will.

Vigor offered us a tour of the ship since we had thirteen hours to kill, and I was eager to dive in. In accordance with standard Alliance procedure, the hangar bay doubled as the field combat preparation area, which meant that all our weapons and armor was stored in an armory toward the stern, just behind the elevator leading to the upper decks. Once we were ready for a mission, we would gear up there, head to the cargo bay for a quick briefing, and board the shuttle. Made much more sense than the Normandy's setup when she was still a Cerberus vessel.

Evidently we were the last to arrive, as Wrex and his brood had already staked out a section of the cargo bay near the armory. What stood out to me was that only ten lockers lined the wall of the armory, four of which had the names Daniels, Ashbrook, T. Womble, and D. Womble; if I was to assume that those ten lockers were indicative of how many combat personnel were on-board, there were only five operatives aside from us and Garrus, three of whom were modifying weapons at various workbenches throughout the cargo bay. An asari, a salarian, and a human that I swore had an N7 patch on his jacket.

 _I don't fucking belong here._

The next level up was engineering. Not much to see there, what with engineers running this way and that trying to make sure systems were up to snuff before lift-off. Vigor explained that Evanescent was outfitted with a modified Tantalus-II drive core, which again meant nothing to me aside from the fact that the original Normandy used a similar core. Seeing as it was essentially a black hole under strict confinement, I wasn't too eager to get closer.

Third floor up was where we'd be spending the majority of our time. Male and female living quarters sat at the stern on opposite sides of the ship, naturally, adjacent to their respective shower rooms. On the port and starboard sides of the ship, where the observation decks would have been on Normandy, were two personnel cabins, with two more at the bow situated on either side of the Thanix access corridor. The galley was located dead center of the deck, again similar to Normandy, but with two more cabins offset both port and starboard. It was like they'd taken the Normandy's designs and mirrored them, utilizing the observation decks and medbay as living quarters.

All in all, it was a decent setup. The galley no longer seemed like an extended hallway you just passed through, but an actual isolated area of the ship even though it sat right in the middle of everything. Partitions surrounded the cafeteria tables, shutting them off from the rest of the deck, while the chef's area actually was walled off with an opening barely wide enough to let a krogan through. Thankfully our chef was human, otherwise I got the feeling I wouldn't have been eating much. I can't even eat seafood, for fuck's sake.

On the way back to the elevator Vigor stopped the tour to let us know that we would be staying in the cabins toward the bow, so we decided to check them out before we headed to the command center. At first I'd thought Troy, Adison and I would be sharing a room, but evidently everyone on the field team was meant to get their own cabin. For a moment I felt bad for the rest of the crew that had to stay in the barracks, but when I stepped into my room I completely lost sight of anyone else's discomfort. It was much bigger than I'd thought it would be, for one thing, and damn but _everything_ was set up as if it had been designed for me. Terminal on a desk spanning at least eight feet wrapped around the far corner of the room; a lounge decked out with two L-sofas, a lounger, and a screen on the wall that I was pretty sure was a futuristic television; and a queen-sized bed separated from the lounge via partitions. Everything I needed and more.

Needless to say, it took us a minute to accept that this was really where we'd be staying, especially Daniels. She'd been used to bunks and shared rooms for years, courtesy of being a military grunt. I suppose both the Alliance and the Hierarchy thought it best to keep their ground units as happy as possible considering the kind of missions we were going on.

After we finally did get over ourselves, Vigor accompanied us to the command deck, where we once again saw Garrus conferring with the crew. Suffice it to say the CIC and cockpit were virtually exact replicas of Normandy. The stern was a different story, however. The starboard corridor led to the medbay and laboratory, both of which were occupied by half a dozen salarians, asari, and humans, Mordin among them. Vigor then took it upon himself to inform us that if we were good enough at our jobs, we would have no need to visit the infirmary. Cheeky bastard.

To end the tour, Vigor directed us to the conference room on the port side of the CIC. Nothing special there; twelve seats encircling a wooden table where we would debrief after missions and a quantum entanglement communicator linked to Normandy and Sentinel. From there we could video conference with Shepard, Hackett and the Council all at the same time if the need arose.

I was star-struck. It felt like I had just walked onto the Normandy for the first time as Commander Shepard. Only this time it was me, and I was a tangible presence in a very real world.

Damn I was glad it was Garrus in charge of this operation. Although I didn't really know him in any meaningful sense of the word, he was the one person that I felt comfortable following into battle. And after the shitshow on earth, I knew he'd get us through this mission no matter what.

The next few hours were spent idly, settling into our cabins and eventually making our way down to the armory to modify our gear. Under normal circumstances we wouldn't have had access to any useful equipment, but with three Spectres aboard, an N7, two asari commandoes and a salarian STG expert, we had fucking everything. I didn't even know what a fraction of it was, but I was happy to take some advice from a turian weapons expert on how to get more accuracy out of Invidium. Then came the armor, changing it from that godawful eggshell white to a more down-to-earth black, accented by the red undersuit. When it was all said and done it almost looked like my previous armor, just way more bad-ass.

I'd just finished applying a second coat of paint to the armor when Garrus's voice came over the intercom, prompting everyone in the cargo bay to stop what they were doing so they could listen.

 _"_ _This is Vakarian speaking. We've just finished preparations for launch and will be departing Sentinel momentarily. I'd just like to take this opportunity to get everyone up to speed on our mission."_

Troy and I caught each others' gaze and he shrugged his eyebrows. "Here we go."

 _"_ _You've all been selected for this team because you're the best at what you do. With everything the Reapers are throwing our way, we need to be the best. This ship and her crew are operating under the Council's authority. You're not STG or Serrice or Alliance anymore—we've been given permission to do whatever is necessary to cure the genophage and cause as much chaos for the Reapers as possible. They think they've got us beaten already. Our homeworlds are under siege across the galaxy, and it's up to us to get them the support they need to resist. But more than that, this is about undoing something that never should have happened."_

Though he might as well have been a mile away at the opposite end of the cargo bay, I could see Wrex stir. Whether that was good or bad, I had no idea.

 _"_ _I can't lie, it's not going to be easy. Nothing that we do from this point forward will be easy. But we're doing it because we're some of the only ones who can. So no matter what your reasons are for being here, know that we can do this. We killed Sovereign at the battle of the Citadel, and we'll kill any other Reaper that gets in our way. Because this galaxy has a future, and we're going to do whatever it takes to ensure that future is what we make it to be."_

 _Shit. Deep stuff._

"Vakarian out."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Welcome back, everyone! Took a bit longer than I would've hoped, but the show is finally on the road! (Insert joke about puns not being funny) So yeah, the SIs have had their genes tampered with, they've got some pretty bad-ass gear, a bad-ass new ship, and a bad-ass crew we'll be meeting next chapter. I know, seems to good to be true, right? Well, if there's anything you've learned from this story, it's that these guys never catch a break. And that's all I can say, because spoilers!

You reviewers have probably noticed by now that I'm changing my format in regards to how I respond to reviews. Rather than leaving my responses in the Author's Notes, from now on I'll just respond to you directly via PM (with the exception of guests, who I will still respond to here of course). That way there's not a lot of extra stuff people have to skim through if they're not interested, and it gives me a slightly more accurate word count. I know, I could just check that in Word, but I'm lazy and I like looking at the stats for this story because you guys are awesome. This story is reaching people in places I never would've dreamed!

 **Jim:** Glad you're still enjoying it! I basically try to put as much gravity in the story as possible without making it depressing, so it's good to know that despite all the dark subplots I throw in here you still have fun reading it. And of course, things have only begun to rattle :)

Well you guys can probably guess what's going to happen next chapter, but I can at least tell you that in keeping with _Instability's_ longstanding tradition nothing is going to go how anyone expects. Literally, nothing. And we've got a lot of shit happening right now, so I think it'll be interesting. So as always, my thanks to all the reviewers, faves and followers, and I'll see you next chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

I was beginning to think we would never reach Tuchanka. After leaving Sentinel aboard the Evanescent, I'd had more free time than I knew what to do with. Granted, that wasn't saying much since we had been fighting, uniting the galaxy and undergoing dangerous genetic experiments non-stop since Vancouver, but it was still a daunting prospect. When you've run past your usual breaking point you don't want to stop; you want to keep going to see how far you can push yourself, as if adrenaline and enthusiasm are all there is to life. I was just waiting for something terrible to happen so I could jump back into the fray.

After our commencement launch Vigor suggested I rest or get to know the crew, and seeing as I'd done nothing but rest for six days after the implants went in, talking to the crew was my only option. Evidently the turians didn't think it smart to entrust us with a bar and an endless supply of alcohol like Cerberus had on the Normandy.

All in all, it was a good crew. I couldn't say that with absolute certainty because I knew next to nothing about military operations or how to run a ship smoothly, but everyone seemed much more confident in their job than I did. Even the technicians and ship operators—the low-level guys in this operation—had all served in specialized programs of their respective military groups. There wasn't a single person aboard Evanescent that hadn't earned the right to be there a dozen times over, and they knew it.

More than once I was forced to ask myself how the hell I'd landed there. Adison made a damn good soldier and Troy had surprised everyone with his marksmanship abilities, Garrus included, but I was a mediocre fighter at best. I didn't belong on the battlefield, despite how ready I was to do something useful.

Maybe Hackett had realized that my use as an intelligence asset was waning, or maybe he just wanted to send Troy and Adison on this mission and didn't feel right leaving me out of the loop. Shit, he might have just needed guinea pigs for his experimental armor and we were the most expendable soldiers he had. If we died, back to the drawing board. If we survived and kicked some ass, mass produce the damn things and give them to the soldiers who actually knew what the fuck they were doing.

But I knew Hackett wasn't that cold or desperate. He only cared about the hardsuits in the respect that they would make us more effective on the battlefield. So either he had a hell of a lot more confidence in me than I had in myself, or he was sending us along hoping we could streamline the process of curing the genophage. Fat fucking chance.

There was a plan brewing in my mind, but with everything going so dramatically different than I'd thought it would, I wasn't sure what I could rely on to be real anymore. Nothing is harder than when you plan for something with solid expectations and then realize you can't trust any of the evidence you formed your plan around.

"Mister Womble."

 _Speaking of plans._

"For the love of God, Vigor, I told you to call me Donovan. Mister Womble just sounds weird."

"Of course, Donovan," the AI's distinctly turian voice replied, emphasizing my name. Amazing how lifelike he could be despite lacking a physical presence. "Spectre Vakarian has called for a mission briefing in the conference room. All combat personnel are required to attend."

I knew the rest of the crew was getting the same message simultaneously, so Troy and Adison would be waiting for me in the hall any moment now. No use delaying. "On my way," I said as I stood from the desk. "How long until we reach the Aralakh System?"

"Approximately twenty-two minutes."

Twenty minutes? Damn. I'd expected a warning an hour or so out so we'd have time to prepare. I'd have to break the habit of making assumptions now that I was part of a legitimate military operation led by a turian.

Well, maybe not all my assumptions. Troy and Adison were waiting for me just outside my room. At least that went as expected.

"Twenty minutes til drop," I told them as we began heading for the elevator.

"Twenty-two," Vigor corrected.

"Do we have a plan?" Troy asked. Likely he'd thought about it just as much as I had, and had no doubt come up with just as unstable a solution. Or with any luck maybe he'd had a better one. Creating a plan and creating a plausible plan with some degree of success are two different things after all, and I'm not well experienced at the latter.

"I'm sure Garrus has something brewing," I answered. "I just figured we'd tell him about the Shroud, the Destroyer, and anything else that might get in our way. We can leave the strategizing to the people that are experts at that kind of thing."

"Sounds good to me."

God above did I hope it would be that simple. Assuming Mordin was close to finishing the cure we'd just need to get past the Destroyer and disperse it through the Shroud. And hopefully if we warned Mordin about the salarians' interference with the Shroud's controls beforehand, he could find a way to overcome that obstacle without blowing himself to hell.

I really needed to stop making assumptions. I was more likely to jinx myself than derive any hope from the process.

We reached the conference room a minute later after bumping into Claire and our resident biotic expert, Silana Antarom, the asari that not only broke the mold but destroyed it with her mind and tossed it out the airlock. Generally you can stereotype asari as extremely polite, shrewd diplomats, powerful biotics, and philosophic intellectuals. Antarom fit half the bill, and I didn't dare ask what happened to the other half for fear that she would pull my spleen out through my mouth. Smart, dangerously powerful, and with a disposition rivaling that of an aged krogan warlord, she was not the kind of person you struck up a friendly conversation with during an elevator ride. I was happy just to stroll to the conference room in complete silence.

It seemed we were the last to arrive, as everyone had already been seated in anticipation while Garrus, Wrex, and Mordin stood at the back of the room. How the hell had everyone gotten there so quickly? Vigor had literally just given us the notice two minutes ago.

"Good, everyone's here," Garrus said. I took that as my cue to find an open seat and settle in for the briefing.

 _Dammit, the batarian? Nice planning, Donovan._

I'd been the last one to both enter and take a seat, and that left me with the option of crossing the room to claim Garrus's unused chair or taking a seat by J'kal, our armaments and long-distance heavy engagement specialist. I'd like to say I had properly introduced myself, but in reality we'd passed each other in the hallway once and he snarled at me in such a way that I wondered if he hadn't planted an IED under my bunk. One of the crewmen had informed me that he was one of the Hegemony's best demolitions experts, and whether he was two or two thousand meters away from a target he always made sure they went out with quite a display.

So, after a brief internal debate in which I seriously considered taking Garrus's chair, I ignored my better nature and sat. At least Adison was on my other side, so if J'kal did decide to do anything I could just use him as cover.

"I'm sure Vigor has told you all by now that it won't be long until we hit the Aralakh System," Garrus continued. At least my discomfort wasn't so noticeable that it drew attention. "We have a cure, but we won't know whether or not it works until we can disperse it. Mordin."

The crazed salarian with one cranial horn nodded, acknowledging that he had the stand. "Yes, cure ready for use. Should work, might not, won't know until used on krogan. Problem is dispersal, and . . . Reaper threat on Tuchanka also difficult. Won't be easy."

"The Reapers have arrived on Tuchanka?" Antarom asked.

"Better yet, are we planning on delivering the cure to the entire krogan race at once?" This coming from the salarian on our team, Inam Gorun. Good guy, intelligent like any other salarian, and damn but his pistols were shiny as hell. "You have to realize that's impossible, Professor."

"Ah, yes, doubt," Mordin replied, answering milliseconds after Gorun's statement. "Understandable; young, naïve, eager to prove yourself. Always find a way. STG should have taught that."

It was like watching a hamster jacked on meth and cocaine at the same time, minus all the negative side-effects that would entail.

"The STG taught me to be realistic," Gorun countered. "Unless this is an aerosolized cure that can disperse through the planet's atmosphere in a matter of hours, it will take weeks to properly deliver it."

"The Shroud."

Every set of eyes in the room turned to Troy. I'd gotten the vague impression that the crew saw the three of us as jokes in comparison to their years of experience, so naturally they'd be shocked when one of us offered a suggestion. I just hadn't expected the look he got from Antarom. It was the same one Wrex and Gorun couldn't have been more obvious about.

"How the hell do you know about the Shroud?" Wrex growled.

"That's why we're here," Troy said, motioning to Adison and I. "Intel. I mean sure, we can shoot stuff like the rest of you, but our biggest strength is knowledge."

Mordin didn't miss a beat, running through scenarios without a care in the world before stopping to give thought as to how we knew about the Shroud. "Interesting idea. Could release cure through last surviving tower, particles disseminate into atmosphere, reaches global population in single rotation—roughly twenty-one hours. Might work. Angry krogan has point as well; information not widely known, not available on extranet. Does Alliance have data on Tuchanka? Impossible, never been there, not welcome like everyone else. Certainly not a leak in STG, would've heard. Possible interference from cloaca in salarian government—not likely . . . "

A very large part of me wanted to do a paragon interrupt and save us all the wear and tear on our ears, but that would mean convincing yet another room full of skeptics to believe a preposterous lie. I was already dealing with enough deception; I didn't need to add any more to my life by lying to the people I'd be fighting alongside.

Luckily I had Garrus to bail me out.

"It's not important who knows what or how they know it, just that we have a plan. Everyone in this room was brought on board for a specific reason; some for your combat expertise, some for your intel. If we stop to question each others' abilities every time we're surprised by them the Reapers will make quick work of us. So unless anyone has a better idea, we'll disperse the cure via the Shroud."

No one argued. It may have been Garrus's first command, but the crew respected him and knew better than to pry too much when the entire galaxy hinged on this mission.

"All right," he continued after sensing no objections. "Wrex, what do we need to know about this place?"

The krogan grumbled, unappreciative of the fact that his concerns had been so readily dismissed. If it had been anyone other than Garrus or Shepard he probably would have just left the room.

"The tower stands at the edge of an old krogan arena," he said, leaning back against the wall at the far end of the room. "It was originally a shrine to Kalros, the oldest living thresher maw on Tuchanka. Legend says she's the mother of all thresher maws. We'll need to navigate through the ruins until we reach the arena and hope we don't accidentally wake her."

"There's another problem," Gorun added, fiddling with his omni-tool before projecting the display onto the table in the center of the room. Surely enough, the Shroud appeared from thin air along with the surrounding thresher maw shrine and endless desert.

But what really caught everyone's attention was the war that was already raging there. I'd expected one Reaper, maybe two simply because they always seemed to be going overkill with everything they did. There was absolutely no call for the half-dozen visible in the limited display, not to mention several more ambling in and out of the screen. Three of them stood in a triangular formation just next to the Shroud, blocking attacks from every angle while the rest attempted to break the defense and bring down the tower.

 _How the fuck are they always one step ahead?_

Everyone watched in silent awe as a veritable Reaper civil war unfolded in front of us. Even J'kal the batarian leaned forward, a small display of incredulity lighting his eyes. Of all the unforeseen events we'd witnessed already, this was by far the most shocking. After Jerusalem there were more than a few second-guesses on my part as to the Reapers' true motives, but seeing this in action shattered pretty much everything I'd always known to be truth. That Reaper had been serious. They really were going to try to find an alternative to harvesting us.

And perhaps more importantly, I had been right about one thing. Not all the Reapers agreed with this method. I'd gone through a dozen different scenarios in my head while we were back on Sentinel regarding how events would play out if that stasis-dream had been real, but none of them could have prepared me for the bombshell displaying from Gorun's omni-tool. I'd assumed that even if the Reapers didn't want to harvest us, they would continue to do so unless we could come up with another solution. Instead it appeared they had turned on each other to defend us.

Did we really have a chance? For God's sake, if half the Reapers were willing to turn on the other half they had to see something in us. Some flicker of hope that against all odds we could find a way to stop the destruction of the galaxy.

"It appears your Reaper friend was telling the truth," Gorun continued, pointing his statement at Garrus. "There are nine Reaper destroyers surrounding the shroud, four of them appear to be defending it. Several more Capital ships are fighting in orbit—it's impossible to tell which side they're on."

Garrus sighed, leaning in to the table to survey the scene more closely. "We can't even tell which of the destroyers might be on our side. They could be defending the tower so we can get in safely, or they may be trying to keep us out. We won't know until we engage them."

"I can get in contact with the other clan chiefs when we reach Aralakh," Wrex said. "By the time we arrive at Tuchanka they can have a company of my best soldiers waiting for us. I'll make sure they don't engage until we do."

"Good," Garrus replied. "We'll need the backup. The Turian Sixth and Asari Second Fleets are meeting us at the relay, but we won't have any ground support. If your people can get us to the Shroud, the fleets should be able to keep the Reapers busy long enough to let us slip inside and disperse the cure."

Backup? Holy shit. The Council was really taking this war seriously. I suppose after the destruction of the Citadel they'd honestly realized looking after themselves wasn't going to get them anywhere.

"There may be one more problem," Troy said. "The Shroud's sabotaged. Salarians wanted to make sure no one interfered with the genophage after they'd worked so hard to spread it. We can still use it to release the cure, but the way those Reapers are going at it we won't have much time before that tower falls. Whoever goes up there probably isn't coming back."

Wrex scoffed. "Of course."

"Sabotage likely to be problematic," Mordin interrupted. "Know how STG thinks, can counteract sabotage if given enough time. Will need assistance. Gorun would be most useful, only one who knows salarian protocols well enough. Reaper threat more problematic."

I loved how unfazed he was even knowing that this mission could possibly be the death of him. He was a guy who had seen a lot of morally ambiguous shit in his life and it didn't matter to him what it took to set the record straight. The urge to find atonement is a powerful motivator, and in Mordin's case it did wonders.

"Mordin, even with both of you up there it's still a suicide run." Garrus would know. The man had been on his fair share of suicide missions. "We can find another way."

"Mm, not sensible. Already have solution. Good one, bit dangerous, can work around that. No need to look for another. Besides, want to see Reapers' reaction to squad presence personally. May provide valuable insight if ally faction presents itself."

He was brave, I had to give him that. Completely ambivalent about setting everyone else in a position of extreme danger, but every genius has his flaws. We had a battle plan and apparently a good amount of support on the way, so there was no reason to not at least give it a shot. And now that Mordin was aware of the risks involved with using the Shroud, maybe he and Gorun could find a way to disperse the cure before getting themselves blown up.

Garrus seemed to be the only one who didn't like that idea. He'd been faced with the peril of losing people before, but working with Shepard undoubtedly left a savior mentality imprinted on him. She was the woman who'd ventured into the galactic core to fight the Collectors, not only without suffering a single casualty, but also saving the crew that had been taken hostage during a surprise attack. The operatives sitting around that table, on the other hand, more than likely lost allies on a regular basis. The prospect of losing another—and one they didn't know well, at that—didn't have the usual impact.

Noticeably quiet during the entire briefing was the N7 operative, Koenig. Of all the crew aboard Evanescent he was the only one I hadn't had any interaction with, and apparently I wasn't alone in that respect. The only thing I knew about him came from a human crewman that had served with him on a mission, and that was that he kept to himself. Didn't fraternize with the crew, didn't offer much in the way of conversation, even during missions. And there wasn't much in the way of physical tells to get a read on him. Military crew cut despite reaching the rank of N7—which I'd learned pretty much bought you a free pass to do whatever the hell you wanted with your appearance as long as it wasn't off-the-charts unprofessional—suggested he'd grown accustomed to wearing his professional façade at all times, not letting a single miniscule display through to show what he really thought. Even his full dark beard was hardly revealing; most Alliance personnel preferred to stay clean-cut, but his appearance was so precisely maintained it was hardly worth mentioning.

Either way, his personal opinions on the mission didn't matter so much as his ability to see it through. J'kal had remained equally silent, although his hostile glares conveyed easily enough that he was there simply because his ranking officer had demanded it. The batarians didn't want it to be said that they weren't doing their part, after all.

But for whatever reason my mind was wandering in too many different directions. Hell, I'd been so preoccupied with observing everyone's input to the briefing that I hadn't offered anything useful myself. Thankfully Troy had picked up in that department, otherwise I may have completely neglected mentioning the trap set at the Shroud. It was all so overwhelming and mind-bogglingly different than what I expected that I was having trouble just keeping up with the moment.

"If you're sure," Garrus said, resigning himself to the fact that we had all settled on this course of action. "Then we have our objective. Once we're on Tuchanka we'll rendezvous with Wrex's soldiers, and from there we make our way to the Shroud. We're almost certain to run into trouble along the way, so stay close and watch each others' backs. When we encounter resistance, I trust each of you to do what you do best."

My omni-tool pinged, causing me to wonder what the hell that meant. Anyone who could possibly need anything from me was sitting (or standing, in Garrus's case) in the room with me. I swiped the application open and saw a brief message from Shepard, starred as urgent.

Shit, I hadn't even thought about that. While we'd spent the better part of a week acclimating to the gene mods and prepping to launch the Evanescent on her maiden voyage, Shepard and her crew had been out in geth space dealing with the conflict over Rannoch. And I'd already had a hundred ideas fly through my mind as to how we could smooth over that entire ordeal.

"Vigor," Garrus called, reeling me back into the moment. "How long until we reach the relay?"

As always, the VI's response time was right on point. "We are on approach now. Less than ten minutes until arrival at Tuchanka."

"That settles it, then. Everyone gear up and meet at the cargo bay in five. Time to put this crew through her first test."

With no further objections or clarification needed on the mission, everyone began filing out of the room headed for the elevator while Garrus, Mordin and Wrex stayed behind. Likely they wanted to chat privately before we touched down. One of the side-effects of being part of Shepard's crew: they'd established a trust that the rest of the team didn't share yet. Not to mention everything hinged on the three of them—Mordin's ability to deliver the cure, Wrex's ability to get us there safely, and Garrus's ability to keep us all alive.

It was surreal to be a part of something like that-just knowing that I was expected to hold my own against an onslaught of Reapers and contribute to the working dynamic of an elite squad that probably had more kills between them than I had hours spent with a controller in my hand.

Well, that may be a stretch, but you get my point.

Being that I was closest to the door, Troy, Adison and I were some of the first to leave, but rather than heading straight for the cargo bay I strayed down the hallway a bit toward the CIC. Troy and Adison followed, naturally, wondering why I wasn't going along with the rest of the crowd, and I brought up my omni-tool to legitimately check the message this time.

"Never thought I'd be involved in something like that," Adison said, letting out a bottled breath. At least I hadn't been the only one not entirely comfortable in that room.

"You guys okay?"

My first instinct was to shut the omni-tool and pretend like nothing was happening, but then my brain kicked in and I realized it was just the innocent voice belonging to Claire.

"Yeah, we're good," I managed. "Be down in just a minute."

She gave me a look, one that I couldn't entirely read the meaning of, but left it alone well enough. "Okay, see you there."

Once she'd left, and the rest of the team had disappeared inside the elevator, I checked the message.

 _"Donovan,_

 _I'm sure Hackett's told you about my mission with the geth and quarians. We arrived three days ago and have been beating around the bush with the Admiralty Board. They refuse to give us a single thing until we can either destroy the geth or convince them to abandon Rannoch. I'm hoping you have some inside information, something that will stir the quarians to action or help with the geth. Otherwise I don't see this ending anytime soon._

 _-Shepard"_

 _Fuck. Fucking Goddamn fuck!_

The message was so ambiguous and lacking in detail; had the quarians attacked first causing the geth to retreat to the Reapers, like it should have happened? Or was there even an open conflict? All the message had said was "hostilities." That could just mean the geth still didn't want the quarians to take back Rannoch.

"Guys, we might have a problem," I announced. "Just got a message from Shepard. She wants anything we can offer about the geth and quarians."

"The who?" Adison asked. Damn, for a minute I forgot he wasn't at all familiar with any of this.

"They're a race of tech specialists and the artificial intelligences they created," Troy explained. "Centuries ago the geth drove the quarians off their homeworld, and now the quarians want to take it back. Did Shepard give you any details? We need to know what's going on if we want to help."

"Yeah, I dunno," I replied. "It sounds like maybe they're already fighting."

"Well make sure. We can't do any good if we don't know what the situation is."

Right, no use being information brokers if you're handing out intel that applies to an entirely different set of circumstances.

"Come on," I said, heading for the elevator. "We need to gear up. I'll talk with Shepard on the way."

* * *

No matter how many times she saw it, Ella never stopped being fascinated by the enormity of the Quarian Flotilla. Seventeen thousand ships in all their glory. Some were nothing more than frigates barely larger than a fighter while others were dreadnoughts capable of tearing straight through an Alliance cruiser in a single blow, but the testament to the quarians' ingenuity was the fact that any of them were still running, let alone ready for combat. Ship maintenance isn't something that most people thought about if they didn't regularly go on extended excursions into space. Vessels had to constantly undergo regular repairs and standard operating length for an Alliance vessel was six months, after which it reported to dry dock for no less than a week of round-the-clock maintenance. At maximum a vessel could go fourteen months without needing to go down for repairs. The quarians, however, had maintained an entire fleet for three hundred years without a safe harbor to shut down, and their ships seemed pretty well-off for the most part.

Their inhabitants, on the other hand, were some of the most thick-headed individuals she'd ever seen. God she hoped the cousins could give her something—anything—to force the Admirals' hands. As much as it was beneficial to have Tali arguing the point alongside her, the insufferable natures of Han'Gerrel and Daro'Xen were too much to handle for any stretch of time. And Shala'Raan only made matters worse with her indecisiveness. Zaal'Korris was really the only one Ella could trust, and for some personal reason she couldn't stand the man. If not for the fact that he was the only other Admiral aside from Tali who wanted to spare the geth, she might have cracked his helmet open after one of his pompous remarks.

Her omni-tool pinged, and despite her skepticism she was relieved to see it was a message from Donovan.

 _"Shepard,_

 _I'd be happy to help, just need some more details. What's the situation like? I know the majority of the quarian people want to destroy the geth outright, but their minds can be changed believe it or not. Has there been a violent conflict? If so, who initiated it? And are the Reapers involved?_

 _We're getting ready to touch down on Tuchanka now, so I don't have much time. Get me as much information as you can and I'll see what I can do to help._

 _-Donovan"_

Ella read the line "I know…" several times before finishing the message. So confident, as if he'd seen a vision of several different ways the war could play out and was just trying to figure out which scenario he was dealing with. And the Reapers. He was expecting them to be part of this mess despite the fact that there wasn't a sign of Reaper presence in the entire system.

Still, it was her best shot at getting some actionable intel. Shifting to a more comfortable position at her desk, Ella began writing her response.

 _"To hear the quarians tell it, everything is the geth's fault. The truth is that countermeasure you mentioned a few days ago did more damage than anyone anticipated and the geth have retreated, opening fire on any ship within range of Rannoch. It hasn't escalated to full-scale war yet, but some of the admirals are pressing for it. They think they can win._

 _I had a geth fighting with me while I was hunting the Collectors, but I can't get through even to him. If there were a way to contact him we might be able to open a line of communication and establish terms for a peaceful negotiation. Otherwise I was hoping you might have some dirt on the Admirals I can use as leverage. Liara's been digging up everything she can, but they're a paranoid and reclusive people. At this point I'll take anything."_

She sounded too desperate, and she knew it. Or maybe not so much desperate as informal and pissed beyond hell that she was stuck playing diplomat while there was fighting to be done on Tuchanka and pretty much anywhere else in the galaxy except the quarian system. Negotiations were a necessary part of the job considering the colossal threat presented by the Reapers, but every time a drone went down in combat there was an instant sense of accomplishment. One more step, however small, toward beating the Reapers. There was no such gratification to be earned from attempting to keep the peace in a room full of petulant Admirals.

The door to Ella's quarters chimed and she allowed access, not bothering to check who was requesting entry. She liked to keep a literal open-door policy with her crew, and it had served her well. On the rare occasions she didn't wish to be disturbed, everyone knew to leave her be.

"Shepard." Liara's soft, soothing voice brought a quick moment of relief. If anyone could calm Ella during times like these, it was her.

"Liara," Ella said, spinning her chair to face her. "Did something happen with the Admirals?"

"No, nothing like that. Just wanted to check up on you. It's been a long few days."

It had been a long two weeks. Hell, might as well count the last six months while she was at it. Being a "guest" of the Alliance pending her trial for treason was hardly the easiest thing in the world knowing that the Reapers were spending that time crossing dark space to initiate this brutality. Even more taxing had been the Parliament's complete disinterest in this fact, choosing rather to focus on Ella's alignment with Cerberus as the greater issue. And then, of course, the ten-odd days that had been spent fighting, persuading, and getting the galaxy in motion to stop this madness.

 _I need a vacation when this is all over._

Ella's omni-tool pinged yet again. She decided that if this one wasn't good news, she was going to call it a night and tackle the problem after a few hours' sleep. She hadn't gotten a decent amount of rest since the initial attack on Earth.

"You contacted the information brokers?" Liara asked. She'd come a long way from that shy, socially inept scientist Ella had met on Therum two years ago. Even after only six months of being the most powerful information agent in the galaxy, she had enough experience to make a decent assertion about almost anything, even trivialities like these.

"Figured we could use some help on this one. The quarians aren't budging and the geth are still blocking us. Any information they have could come in handy."

She swiped her omni-tool and brought up the new message. Damn but it was a long one.

 _"Okay, this could be good or bad. If the geth aren't attacking it might mean the Reapers haven't gotten to them yet, or they're just getting prepared. My best guess is that there's a Reaper on Rannoch, you just can't detect it. It's likely come up with an innovative way to block scanners, like hiding underground. Check for an industrial facility, probably somewhere the geth fabricate physical platforms as soldiers. If you can find anything resembling an underground facility with roughly two hundred and fifty square meters of open space, that'll be where the Reaper's hiding._

 _As for Legion, I have my theories about that as well. He's a specially-designed construct, capable of interaction with hundreds of thousands of geth programs simultaneously. The Reapers may be using him to amplify their control signal, which will enhance geth programming to the point of individual sentience. They'll also be much more efficient in combat, so if you have to engage them, be careful. As for finding him, look for the largest, most well-fortified geth area you can find—maybe a dreadnought or a major geth city. You know, if geth have cities._

 _Unfortunately I can't offer you much on the Admirals. I know Daro'Xen is a bit off her rocker, so you may be able to undermine her credibility with the quarian people. Shala'Raan feels like she has to be the unbiased third party, so her opinion will always be neutral, but she has a connection to Tali. Use that. Zaal'Koris is already on your side, I'm assuming. And the last one—I'm blanking on his name right now—he's the one advocating geth genocide, right? If you find Legion and manage to show the quarians his perspective, they'll be more open to peace and ignore the Admirals. It's about hearts and minds, Shepard. Do what you do best: kick the Reaper's ass, convince the quarians that they can retake the homeworld without destroying the geth, and save Legion. You're the only one who can._

 _Sorry, won't be able to talk more. We just landed. Good luck, Shepard. We'll get a drink when this is all over. Or ten."_

Ella wasn't sure what to think. There was absolutely no reason to believe the Reapers had a hand in any of this, and yet she was supposed to look for one hidden under Rannoch's surface? Not to mention Legion; Ella had managed to goad a few bits of information from him, but not even she knew that much, and she was the one organic that he'd interacted with most. It simply wasn't possible that three people could have such a wealth of information on something that left none to be learned.

But on the other hand—the very irritating one that tried to think this through logically—he made a few good points. They weren't going to learn anything by patrolling just out of the geth's reach, and Legion was a critical part to reuniting the geth and quarians without bloodshed. Geth technology was certainly more advanced than the rest of the galaxy, but not so advanced as to detect a cloaked vessel with a Reaper IFF. Normandy could slip into the system on a reconnaissance run, find where the geth were keeping Legion, scout possible locations for a Reaper to hide on Rannoch, and develop a tactical analysis before any decisions were made. It was better than waiting until the end of time for the Admirals to come to their senses.

It's interesting that one idea, no matter how ridiculous it is, trumps no ideas at all. Better to be taking some form of action rather than wait for something to inevitably go wrong, even if Ella didn't fully trust her informants.

"Anything useful?" Liara asked.

"A few good leads," Shepard said, standing from her desk and heading for the elevator. "If we're going to get anything done, we need to find Legion."

"Legion? The geth you encountered during your hunt to take down the Collectors?" The two of them stepped inside the lift and Ella hit the button for the CIC. "He hasn't responded to our hails so far. What makes you think he will now?"

"Because we're not going to hail him. We're going on a search and rescue mission."

Liara looked at her for a moment, something similar to concern and confusion drawn on her face. "Shepard, the Admirals are still aboard. I doubt they'll take kindly to wading into the thick of geth space without being consulted."

"They should be happy that we're doing something," Ella replied. "We've spent the last three days trying to do things their way without stepping on any toes. It's time we make a move."

That did absolutely nothing to lessen the impact of Liara's gaze. She knew Ella better than anyone and she had always stood behind her no matter how insane the mission was. It was unusual to see real doubt coming from one of her crew, let alone the person she trusted most.

"What?" Ella asked when she received no response. "You think I'm being too reckless?"

"I'm worried about you." Ella's stomach twisted. Guilt, maybe. "You were the only one prepared for this, but even then you couldn't have possibly expected any of the horrors we've seen already. I'm worried that you're pushing yourself too far because you blame yourself for every loss we take."

Though Ella wasn't the kind of woman who would admit to something so crippling, she knew Liara had hit the nail on the head. No one with a healthy grasp on their emotions trudges into battle with no plan or consideration as to what might go wrong. She _was_ being reckless, and she knew it.

But she also knew that the Reapers had crossed every line in the book when it came to warfare, and to survive such a vicious onslaught, Ella needed to cross a few lines herself. Screw the Admirals.

The elevator door slid open, revealing that the galaxy map was already being used. No one but Ella could order the Normandy to travel to a destination, but for someone like Tali it served as an efficient means of seeing her homeworld without the Admirals looking over her shoulder. No doubt each of them had been whispering in hear ear, attempting to win her over to their side because they thought she was young and easily influenced. Luckily for Ella, Tali was one of the strongest people she'd ever met. The Admirals should have aspired to be more like her.

"I'm fine," Ella told Liara as they left the elevator. "Right now we just need to focus on winning this thing."

She'd almost made it to the galaxy map when Liara stopped walking. It wasn't even something she actually knew had happened; she didn't see or hear it. Rather it was an almost preternatural knowledge brought about by the emotional intimacy the two of them shared. Bonding with an asari was unlike anything Ella had ever experienced in a relationship.

"Shepard," Liara said softly. "You're doing the best you can, better than anyone else. It's not your fault."

And then she headed back to the elevator, leaving Ella to untwist the knots that had formed in her abdomen. Liara was right; she took every death in this war as a personal failure despite having led the charge against the Reapers for the last three years. Or maybe because she'd been leading the charge, and it still amounted to nothing now that the entire galaxy was under occupation.

Emotions aren't usually something soldiers have a good working relationship with. In fact most of them tend to get buried or completely snuffed out during bootcamp. One of the first things the sergeants teach is that emotion always, _always_ gets in the way of rational thought, and rationality was a necessity on the battlefield. When soldiers go around thinking with their hearts is when people start dying.

Ella had probably had it worse than most soldiers, given the specialized training she'd undergone during the Alliance SpecOps program and Spectre initiation. Going into programs like those, if you still have your emotions intact when you come out the other side you didn't do something right. Calculating efficiency was a must, and anyone who let their judgment be clouded by emotion was dismissed without warning or a second chance.

Still, to completely lack emotion would be inhuman. They still existed, just buried beneath seventeen metric tons of duty, responsibility, and training. In all honesty the argument could be made that in the long run concealing emotion did more harm for soldiers than good. Especially when conflictions arose between the feelings trying to stay buried and the ones attempting to dig their counterparts out of the rubble.

 _It isn't your fault._

Four words had never hit her so hard before. She'd heard them half a dozen times in the last few years alone: after Eden Prime, after losing two colonies to the Collectors, after the Reapers decimated Vancouver and half a dozen other Earth cities. But it had never been something she'd needed to hear coming from someone who knew she didn't want to hear it. Liara knew she'd be upsetting her bondmate, but she did it anyway for Ella's benefit. There was something to be said for that.

She'd have to surprise Liara with a show of appreciation later, and she had a few ideas of what that might entail.

For now though, they needed to take action. Reckless and impulsive and unlikely as the plan seemed, it was the only one they had. Hackett had expected progress two days ago. It was past time to make some.

"Holding down the fort for me, Tali?" Ella asked as she approached the galaxy map.

Tali closed the display of Rannoch quickly and stepped down from the commander's stand, not wanting to give the impression that she was stepping beyond her boundaries. "Oh, Shepard. Sorry, just had to get away from the Admirals for a moment."

Her polite and skittish nature produced a light laugh from Ella. "You don't have to apologize, Tali. If I were in your position I'd need to take a breather from time to time too. Besides, you've had my back more than anyone the last few years. That more than earns you the right to access anything you want in my book."

"Thanks, Shepard. The Admirals can be a bit difficult to deal with sometimes."

 _That's putting it lightly._

Ella stepped up the ramp of the commander's overlook and brought the galaxy map to life where Tali had left off. The Tikkun system sprawled itself before her eyes, all five planets—or maybe that one was just an asteroid—and the dimming star at the center. And of course, the sizeable geth armada hidden in the innumerable artificial constructs floating in orbit just beyond Rannoch's atmosphere.

It looked peaceful, if not a bit chaotic. Getting a reading on the planet was going to be almost impossible with all that tech surrounding it.

"Are you planning on going somewhere, or just admiring the view?" Tali asked.

"The geth have a lot of stations and satellites orbiting Rannoch."

"And more than a few surveillance outposts scattered throughout the system. I wouldn't be surprised if they had a monitoring station tailing the relay. I don't know if even Normandy could enter the system without being spotted."

She caught on quick. The quarians had the technical ingenuity of the salarians, the spirit of the krogan, and the philosophical inclination of the asari, and Tali was an exemplar of these traits. Of course, having served with Ella on and off for three years contributed a good deal to her insight as well.

"We don't have much of a choice at this point, Tali. Either we go to war with the geth to win your people's support, or we find a way to convince them peace is a possibility. The only way we're going to do that is if we can find Legion."

"Legion?" Ella hadn't expected the note of surprise in Tali's voice. "You think he'll help us?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Because the geth operate on consensus. The majority vote determines every action they take. If the rest of the geth don't want to give up Rannoch, he—it—won't have any choice. Besides, you're talking as if it's an individual capable of making choices for itself. Last time it was on Normandy there were over a thousand programs operating in one platform. Imagine if you had a thousand voices in your head, each one fighting for its opinion to dictate your actions. The only reason it works is because they're machines capable of processing data, forming a consensus, and not letting emotions interfere with the decision of the group. Logic and reasoning subvert any organic desire to oppose the majority vote. So even if Legion did want to come to an agreement with my people, he—agh, it—won't risk upsetting the consensus if they decide against it."

There she went again, overcomplicating things the way she always did. True, Legion had explained as much to Ella when she'd asked about geth government, but there was more to the story than that. The geth had evolved beyond their original programming. They may not be emotional and irrational like organics, but Ella had seen more than just circuits and wiring when she would head down to the AI core for random chats with her resident geth sniper. He'd shown loyalty and respect—even admiration by strapping a piece of N7 armor to his chest.

Besides, this was all moot point if Donovan was right about the Reapers already taking control of the geth. In that case there was no point in playing it safe; they would have to find Legion, get him to safety, and work on a way to take down the Reaper parked on Rannoch no matter what the consequences.

Again, _if._ The cousins had been right about pretty much everything so far, and as much as Ella disagreed with their secrecy, there was really no reason to doubt them. But a Reaper hiding in a cave somewhere just below the planet's surface? They were just as likely to find a volus in a jacuzzi full of asari strippers.

There were so many details to consider, so many scenarios to plan out and so many things that could easily go wrong that Ella's head spun when she tried to put it all in perspective. Everything had been so spur-of-the-moment when fighting Saren and the Collectors; when something came up, they acted with the first plan that came to mind. With the Reapers, there were a dozen _if_ questions to be asked before every single action, and twice as many _then_ possibilities and consequences to contemplate.

Screw it. Ella was tired of waiting, tired of asking questions and trying to analyze every decision to make sure it was one hundred percent infallible before acting on it. She was at her best with a rifle in her hands, anyway.

"Joker," she called out, knowing EDI would relay the communication to the cockpit. "Hit the relay. Take us as close to Rannoch as you can without giving away our position."

Within seconds the flight path was laid out on the galaxy map, no doubt EDI's doing. Joker was never one for following procedure or even laying out a flight path for such a short jump.

Odd that he hadn't responded yet, though.

"I apologize for Jeff's delay, Shepard," EDI's robotic voice said. "He seemed to think it was a good idea to take a nap at the helm. We should approach the relay momentarily, so long as he can remain awake long enough to fly the ship."

"Yeah I'm gonna call bullshit on that one, Commander," Joker quickly replied. "EDI's just lashing out because she wanted the body from that AI you shot down on Mars. You did destroy that thing, right? Because the last thing we need is an unshackled AI with the ability to go wherever the hell she wants."

"Rest assured, Mister Moreau, I am fully content to assist you in running the Normandy's systems. There is nowhere I would rather be."

"Well that's not creepy at all. Hitting the relay, Commander."

Ella turned to head for the cockpit when she caught Tali's gaze. It was still hard to read her body language due to the completely concealing face mask, but crossed arms and leaning back on one leg is pretty universal.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Shepard."

 _Believe me, so do I._

* * *

Not a sign of progress in almost seven days. Of course, one could easily say that shouldn't have come as much of a shock considering the nature of what they were dealing with, but Miranda Lawson wasn't the kind of woman who accepted failure, no matter what the goal. And make no mistake, it had been a complete failure. A disaster, really. Getting a dozen of the most powerful biotics in the galaxy in one room and hoping for a solution? Especially given that there were six different species all trying to get their ideas at the top of the list, or some not contributing ideas at all—what the hell had Hackett been thinking?

The only thing that could calm her was a nice long shower. After thirteen hours of hearing from the asari how impossible such a thing was and Jack throwing it in their faces with mockery and obscenities, anyone would have needed a break. Then there were the turians, who had nothing to offer but refusals of every idea; the krogan, who had suggested they create an enormous sphere of biotic power and launch it into the galactic core; the drell, who seemed to think prayer was the answer; and the batarians, who—as always—wanted no part in this cooperative effort but were forced to be there by their commander. It was the galaxy's worst nightmare.

When Miranda had first heard the recording from the Reaper during Hackett's conference, she'd thought it was nothing. The Reapers had always tried to appear so mystical and above comprehension that it seemed like more of the same arrogance. But upon listening to the recording over and over, and re-reading Garrus's official report at least ten times, she'd found something that made her interested.

During its conversation with the three young men Miranda had met in the conference, the Reaper had said they were all doomed to extinction. It claimed that it wanted to save the galaxy from some form of natural disaster, but that harvesting organics was the only way to do that. Yet in his stasis-induced interaction, Garrus mentioned that the Reaper wanted to put an end to the harvesting and allow organics to find a solution. There was only one possible explanation for this discontinuity: they had spoken to both Reapers on the battlefield in Jerusalem. The first one had attempted to destroy them, and the second one had preserved them in order to get its message out. The Reapers were divided, and organics had to make a move.

Thus the need for a biotic committee to determine how best to proceed. One of the Reapers had said the only way to reverse the damage done to the galaxy was with an equally powerful reaction; did that mean as powerful as the damage it was currently sustaining, or as powerful as the damage it had sustained since its creation? If it was the former, that was a tall order. If it was the latter, physically impossible. Even if they had every biotic that had ever lived in the last hundred million years creating a biotic atom bomb like the krogan had suggested, the galactic core was nothing but black holes and stars continuously exploding and being reborn. It likely consumed and emitted enough energy in an hour to keep the Citadel activated for the rest of time.

Then there was always Jack's ludicrous idea of learning to harness matter rather than dark matter. The anti-biotics, as she'd cleverly named their group.

It all came down to a heaping pile of rubbish. Unless they had some sort of guidance from the Reapers—the good ones, anyway, if that term even applied—Miranda didn't see any viable option in sight. Just insane theories that were more likely to hasten their demise than save them.

The shower had gone on long enough, she decided, so she shut off the steam jets and dried herself before heading to her new quarters for a glass of wine. She'd half-expected Sentinel Outpost to adhere to common Alliance standards which essentially amounted to four walls and a cot, so it was at least pleasant knowing that at the end of each day she had a cozy room to come back to always stocked with her favorite drink.

On a whim, Miranda brought up her omni-tool and found a novelization of _Vaenia,_ an asari film that had received huge critical appreciation. Wine glass in hand, she curled up in the nearest lounger and cast the display onto the projector on the far wall. Time to settle in, finish the wine, and fall asleep comfortably after a chapter or two.

Five minutes in she was bored. The wine had gone down easily enough, but even that wasn't making the writing any more bearable. The thoughts were fragmented, characters made up their minds altogether far too quickly, and there were enough plot twists within the first fifteen pages to fill an entire elcor drama. Maybe the film would be more tolerable.

Miranda skimmed through the extranet until she found it, purchased the license for one viewing, and began casting it to the holoprojector. Or, would have, if the thing had worked properly. Instead nothing but static greeted her, perforated occasionally by a bit of feedback coming through the channel.

"Dammit, just my luck," she breathed. Accessing the projector's systems via omni-tool did no good; she would have to call someone from maintenance in the morning to check the physical hardware.

But just when she'd given up hope, the static condensed until it disappeared, replaced by a very clear image that did not at all allay Miranda's irritation.

"Miranda," the Illusive Man said. "It's been a while."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Welcome back everybody, and cue dramatic plot twist #7,249! I know half of you were probably hoping TIM was dead while the other half were hoping he'd make an appearance, but all around I think we were all expecting him to show at some point. As for why he's back, you'll just have to wait and see!

On the other side of things, you probably noticed the SI didn't have a very large part in this chapter. He was present for half of it, but I wanted to focus more on bringing some of the characters that we're going to be seeing a lot of to life, both established and original. Plus we got to see some more of Shepard's personal interactions, which are always interesting to write. But, all plot devices aside, it's been too long since we've had any adrenaline and I'm excited for what's coming next. Hopefully you all are too!

Oh, and _Instability_ has officially hit over 100 followers! I know it may not seem like much to a lot of you who may be used to reading (and possibly writing) stories with hundreds or even thousands of followers, but since this is my first and only fic (for now) the support is absolutely incredible. If there were something I could give you other than words on a screen I absolutely would, but for now, I suppose I'll have to settle for bringing you more of the madness that is this story. So thanks again for all the follows, faves, and reviews, and I'll see you next chapter!


	12. Chapter 12

For all the traits that define humanity, our hunger for knowledge is perhaps the most singularly compelling. From the moment we're born until the time we pass beyond our lives, curiosity drives us to learn and experience the world around us, and even in death we continue exploring the unknown. Second only to our survival instinct, the motivation to grow and understand and chase the horizon is what pushes us to accomplish the incredible.

It makes sense then that when I set foot on Tuchanka—the first foreign planet to welcome my presence—I was speechless. The entire world was a veritable wasteland covered in endless desert, cities of rubble, and wreckage that only centuries of war could produce, but it was another step along the path of life's exploration. There were ages of history there expanding far beyond the few thousand years of earth's and humanity's development. Countless stories to be told and mysteries to be uncovered that no one but the krogan could lay claim to. Visiting Sentinel and the Citadel had certainly been magnificent, but this was an entirely new level of wonder. It wasn't hard to see why the krogan had fought so vigorously to survive rather than relocate. This was their home, and there was no other like it.

If all went well, we would make sure it stayed that way.

The shuttles from Evanescent dropped us off at the remains of an old city just beyond the perimeter of the Shroud facility and the arena built in Kalros's honor, giving us a chance to see what we were up against with our own eyes as well as allowing Wrex to get his people ready. The turian and asari fleets had orders to wait until we engaged the Reapers on the ground before moving in, so for the time being we watched while nine destroyers lay waste to the entire area. It was a wonder the tower hadn't been brought down yet, or that we weren't incinerated beyond all hope of recovery by a wayward beam of red death.

It must be getting old by now, I know, but I still couldn't believe that any of them might actually be on our side. Or at least, that our goals were temporarily aligned. Defending the Shroud could only mean one thing, despite Garrus's caution in the briefing: some of them wanted us to accomplish our mission of saving the krogan. If in fact the Reapers guarding the Shroud were trying to keep us away from it, they would have blown it to pieces like they'd done with the Citadel. Ergo the defenders were holding out until we could get there while the attackers had to be the ones willing to stop us at all costs.

That fact in and of itself was mind-numbing given the implications. They had to know that we were forming an alliance, and that a large part of that alliance hinged on curing our diseased powerhouses. It was entirely possible that due to their incredible processing power the Reapers had realized we might try something like this and simply acted on a possibility, but there was more than a healthy bit of doubt in that scenario. An action like this—risking full-scale civil war with the rest of their kind—wasn't something to be rushed into without a hundred and ten percent certainty as to our motivation. The Reapers had known we'd be coming to Tuchanka.

But there was no point in speculating as to how the leaves had known to change color before we'd even realized it was the beginning of Fall. We could only endure the season, plow what remained of our crops, and prepare the field for a harsh winter.

"Jesus," Troy breathed, watching the scene play out alongside Claire, Adison and myself. "Look at that shit."

It was truly breathtaking. I could hear the metallic wails of the destroyers even from our considerable distance, speaking a language of fury and anguish only they understood. The desert ground was often torn apart by a blast of energy and occasionally shaken so hard I had to brace myself just to keep from toppling over. Whatever they were fighting for—the destruction of the krogan or their salvation—they fought tooth and nail.

"Well, now I can say I've seen pretty much everything," Claire commented.

She wasn't even exaggerating. Three "good" Reapers stayed more or less immobile defending the tower, while one more strayed throughout the battlefield attempting to draw fire from the five "bad" ones. Simply categorizing these monsters using adjectives like good and bad felt paradoxical—in my mind, there should only have been bad. If you'd told me that I would one day be describing the Reapers as anything other than a negative force, I'd have thought you were an idiot.

 _Who's the idiot now?_

Footsteps. It had taken some time to adjust to the Seer mod and even though I no longer twitched at every new sense to greet my mind, I found myself acutely more aware of and reactive to my surroundings. Whereas before the enhancement I barely would've noticed the sound of rubble being crushed by armored boots, instinct drove me to assume hostility and act accordingly. It _was_ a military mod, after all.

Thankfully out of all the people on the team, Gorun presented himself as the least threatening. I was sure even without knowing much about him that my assumption was entirely false, but compared to the brusque dispositions of Antarom, J'kal, and Koenig, Gorun was a welcome sight.

"I don't know what I was expecting," he said with a forceful sigh. "I'd make an analogy to describe precisely how ridiculous the krogan's actions are, but I don't see how there's any stronger imagery than seeing it in action."

No arguing with that. Though I tried to block most of it out, I could hear Wrex arguing with his brother Wreav and a dozen others over the most trivial things. Well, trivial to us, at least. The krogan had a right to be wary of outsiders, and as much as we wanted to help they weren't the kind of people to trust an offer of assistance when it came attached to a very dangerous and familiar string.

"I don't know what Wrex was expecting, coming back here with a Council escort," Troy commented.

"He realized just like the rest of us that this is the only choice we have right now," I said. I imagine there must have been such a tone of certainty in my voice, because Gorun couldn't hide the curiosity in his eyes. It wasn't easy reading alien expressions, but some things cross species barriers well enough.

"You overheard him?" Gorun asked. "They must be fifty meters away."

"Genetic enhancement," I explained. "My senses are all pushed beyond normal. For a human, anyway."

He gave me a look, and that one I couldn't quite figure out. "You'd make for a good infiltrator with an ability like that."

Adison chuckled. "This is the guy that tripped and spilled beer on my carpet at least five times," he said, punching me on the shoulder lightly. "Can't even imagine what he'd do as an infiltrator."

Troy and I laughed at that, remembering the good times we'd had when we would all get together at Adison's for a weekend of alcohol and video games. And of course the times when we'd drank way, way more than we should have. Still, even those memories were nothing short of hilariously entertaining.

"Don't worry bro," I replied, "I got no plans of becoming an infiltrator. So there's still plenty of opportunity for me to spill beer on your floor on the Evanescent, too."

"Oh no, if there's ever alcohol involved I'm not messing around. We can hang out in _your_ cabin."

Gorun didn't seem quite sure how to react to our banter. I forget that what's normal and entertaining for us is usually annoying or downright idiotic to just about everyone else, so it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise when the salarian settled for shaking his head in confusion. "I don't think I'll ever understand humans and your propensity for witless repartee."

Couldn't blame him for that one. While we certainly weren't the worst humanity had to offer when it came to belligerence we'd had our moments, so I could only imagine the displays Gorun had seen among the rest of our species.

"Are they almost ready back there?" Adison asked. Probably an attempt to move the conversation in a less awkward and more serious direction, more for Gorun's sake than ours. We generally found awkwardness entertaining.

"Urdnot Wrex is attempting to convince his people that we intend to help them," Gorun replied. "As you can imagine, they have a hard time believing that."

Of course. As if it wasn't enough that he'd brought a salarian to supposedly cure the genophage, Wrex had allied himself with every other Council race, promising to loan his people out as mercenaries if we could accomplish our mission. The other clans—particularly the ones that disagreed with Urdnot and their supporters—couldn't be happy about that. Centuries of allowing rage and prejudice to fester in isolation have that effect. Shit, I could only claim about a decade of anger and it took its toll.

"Well, they better make up their minds pretty soon," Claire said. "We don't exactly have time on our side right now."

"No one does," Gorun replied in that very salarian way that instantly made his statement seem much more profound than it really was.

"Has Sur'Kesh been hit yet?" I asked. "I've been a bit out of the loop since the initial attack."

If I had been able to discern anything more than the obvious traits of salarian body language I might have caught on to a sliver of surprise and maybe even suspicion, but all my training and years of people-watching failed me completely in this new life—or at least, regarding the unfamiliar lifeforms _in_ this new life.

"How is it that information dealers are unaware of anything so easily accessible?"

 _Shit._ Should've known better than to talk shop with a salarian.

"How do you know who we are?" Troy responded in question. Smart. Buy us a little time to think of an answer. I was getting pretty damn sick of trying to maintain this half-truth façade.

"There's relatively little information the STG is not privy to in regard to galactic affairs," Gorun explained. "When the Alliance and Doctor T'soni began making inquiries as to your identities and credibility, we took notice. And when you assisted Commander Shepard in evacuating the Council during the Citadel crisis, Councilor Valern had us dig deeper. You've covered your tracks remarkably well for such young humans, which raises more than a few questions. Even knowing your identity and having access to your biometric data has yielded no results. So it baffles me that you haven't been paying attention to current events other than those occurring right in front of you. Not to mention the reasoning behind intelligence agents joining this war as soldiers."

I'd actually been having trouble answering that last one myself, never mind the rest of what he'd just thrown at us. What had Hackett been thinking sending us off on field missions, even if we had miraculously managed to survive Vancouver, the Citadel and Israel? All of that could be attributed to adrenaline, luck, and a shit-ton of assistance from a handful of the best soldiers in the galaxy. Even if Troy could pop Reaper's heads off like bubble wrap, we belonged in the women's locker room more than on the battlefield.

 _Actually, we belong in 2016._

"A lot of our intel's out of date," Troy convincingly answered. "That or misleading. But we still know more than most, and we work good together in combat. Admiral Hackett thought it would be a smart play to send combat-ready intelligence assets into the field for reasons you saw during the briefing."

I knew it wouldn't be enough to satisfy Gorun, but it was much better than anything I could've thought up. Maybe I should have left all the talking to Troy right from the beginning. My deception skills are on par with the best of them when it comes to one-time lies, no matter how grandiose or insignificant, but attempting to maintain this fiction became increasingly more difficult each time I had to retell it.

"That addresses very few of my concerns," Gorun responded, "and raises a number more regarding Admiral Hackett's judgment."

Thankfully we didn't have to react to that one. Footsteps, too heavy to be human but just lighter than those of a krogan. Frankly I was a bit weirded out that my ears could make that distinction now.

I turned just in time to see Garrus approaching, cradling his sniper rifle in anticipation. Wrex still stood in the distance with the dozen-odd krogan he'd been meeting with, so either we were going to be playing the waiting game a bit longer or we were trudging on ahead without them. Hopefully the former—after my latest run-in with a Reaper destroyer I was far from eager to rush into the next one.

"What's the word?" Troy asked as our fearless leader joined the circle.

"We're moving out soon," Garrus replied. "Wrex's brother and a few of his supporters aren't too happy with the arrangement, but they'll follow his lead."

Apparently upon seeing him break away from the conference, the rest of the team thought it would be a good idea to see what Garrus had to say. Antarom and Koenig were the first to reach us, followed disdainfully by J'kal. If nothing else, it would certainly be interesting seeing this diverse group in combat together.

"Any changes to the plan?" Adison asked.

"Same as before. The asari fleet's lending us a squad of fighters to help keep the destroyers distracted and the krogan will be handling heavy ground vehicle support. Wrex, Mordin and Gorun will take a route through the Shrine's interior to reach the Shroud while the rest of us fight through the exterior. We're expecting heavy resistance and there isn't much in the way of cover out there, so J'kal, I want you to stay back and bombard the field with ordnance. Troy and I will take sniper positions to provide constant suppressing fire. Daniels, I want you with Wrex's team. If things go sideways I don't want our only field medic to catch a bullet. It'll be up to the rest of you to deal with the drones head-on. And not get blown up by the artillery J'kal will be tossing your way."

Damn. Talk about a plan of attack. Up until that moment all my combat experience had been more along the lines of _"just wing it and see what happens."_ Now we were strategizing and coordinating not just with the team, but with the fleets in orbit and Wrex's krogan.

That was the first time I truly felt like a soldier.

"And when we actually get to the tower?" Antarom asked. "What's the escape plan?"

"We'll hold out as long as Mordin and Gorun need to disperse the cure. When they do, we'll regroup and meet up with the krogan to extract to a safe landing zone for Evanescent's shuttles. Assuming the Reapers keep tearing each other apart, we just need to get out of the drones' reach and we should have an easy go of it from there."

J'kal scoffed, the first interaction I'd seen him display until he followed it up with a single sentence. "You didn't see what they did to Khar'Shan."

"No, I didn't. But I've seen what they did to the Citadel, and what they're doing to the rest of the galaxy. People are depending on us, and I'll be damned if we let a few Reapers get in our way. So are we doing this or what?"

I think it was implied that we had all committed, but Garrus's rhetorical question only served to reinforce that resolve. For better or worse, it was happening, and we would all be there backing his play.

Sensing no further dissent, Garrus turned and addressed Wrex from across the road. "Wrex! We're moving out! Try to keep up!"

* * *

"Heavy fire, right side!" Adison yelled into the comm. I spun in that direction and opened fire with Invidium immediately, spraying Marauders with a flurry of shots that glanced off their shields before ducking to the left to find cover.

The battlefield was a mess. We'd encountered resistance as soon as we made it to the shrine to Kalros and the response was overwhelming. Just as we'd planned, Troy and Garrus had taken up overwatch positions in towers at both sides of the battlefield providing target locations and covering fire while the rest of us did what we did best. J'kal had stayed at range to deploy heavy ordnance, resulting in indiscriminate detonations that were just as likely to take us out as the drones we were fighting. Still, as long as I was attentive and a bit lucky, I could hear shells dropping and move out of the way before I got caught in the blast.

Antarom was a blur, racing through the field using biotics to tear the Reapers apart as well as keep herself out of the line of fire. When you're raging from one spot to the next no one can get a bead on you. Adison and Koenig had formed a good partnership, the former hitting the drones hard and fast while the latter cleaned up the mess left behind with a combination of technical savvy and light biotic manipulation. Adison set them up, Koenig knocked them down. I couldn't recall ever seeing such an impressive display as when Koenig trapped four Marauders in a stasis field and hit them with an Overload program. And as if that hadn't been enough, a mortar from J'kal ensured they exploded in a cloud of blue electricity.

And then there was me, the human target.

The goal was simple; we had to cross this space of no-man's land only to reach a second stretch of similarly lethal terrain. While Mordin and Gorun—accompanied by Claire, Wrex and half a platoon of his merry band—took a second, more protective route to the Shroud, the rest of us took the hard road to distract the majority of the drones. After we crossed the two killzones, we'd regroup at the summoning center where the ancient krogan had (as its name implied) summoned Kalros to prove their worth in battle with the thing. We had no intention of doing that this time around, but the summoning devices were also located at the entrance of the Shroud, so once we were there it was simply a matter of making sure Mordin and Gorun got inside. And of course, the hope was that they could get the cure out before the tower turned into a pile of rubble and dust.

At the rate the destroyers were going at it, we needed to get our asses in gear.

 _Shields are up. Remember, seven seconds._

I mounted Invidium on my back and the weapon collapsed into itself, going into standby.

 _Pistol check. Twelve rounds before overheat, three to the head to breach Marauder shields and secure a kill. Half-second per shot. Don't fire unless you can kill and get away before shields break._

Deep breath.

I stepped out of cover and launched myself into a sprint, heading toward the nearest group of enemies in my line of sight.

 _Thrusters at full capacity. Three ahead, two to the right, four to the left. God knows how many more you're too busy to notice._

A blitz attack was my best option here. A good display to distract the drones, allowing the rest of the team a few seconds to get clear shots. With Troy covering my ass, I could more than likely blow through the drones ahead of me and proceed into the area behind them safely. As long as the rest of the team moved up fairly soon after me I wouldn't get caught in crossfire from both battlefields.

 _Don't die._

The thruster activated and I jumped into the air a good thirty feet, soaring toward the three Marauders I'd carelessly hit with Invidium only moments ago. They hadn't expected an aerial attack. Good.

My left omni-blade came to life a split second before I landed, and I used the force from my jump to hit the first Marauder so hard the ground shook a little when its body collided with the dirt. The fact that a searing hot blade damn near took its face off probably helped, too.

 _On your left._

I spun and slashed in the same motion, leaving a burning gash in the second Marauder before turning to greet the other. It was too far away to reach under normal circumstances, but technology is an incredible thing. The armor propelled me forward and in a single bound I crossed a space of fifteen feet to deliver a fatal stab to the creature's sternum followed by a single bloody shot to the head.

 _Nice, three seconds to spare. Get moving, the rest have noticed._

I darted to the left as the Marauder's body hit the ground, barely evading shots fired from the drones I'd overlooked in my haste to progress toward the Shroud. Luckily between the first killzone and the second there was a trench of sorts with natural corridors on either side of the battlefield leading to the interior Mordin and Gorun were traversing. I had no intention of entering, but the corridors offered considerable protection from both killzones simultaneously while allowing for a good position to provide cover fire. Once the rest of the team made it to my position we could focus on the next stretch of no-man's land and inch a little closer to the Shroud.

The destroyers continued to go at it as hard as ever, and damn but it was distracting being aware of the overhead battle as well as the ground fight. The asari fleet had sent the majority of its fighters to our aid, constantly swooping in and out of sight to distract the enemy destroyers, but our allied super-intelligences were the only credible threat to their more evil counterparts and they knew it. While the battle down on the ground seemed like the most important thing in the world, they didn't pay it any attention. No doubt once we got closer to the tower we'd have to worry about getting squashed by their enormous "feet" as well as the drones, but that was something to set aside until I had to deal with it.

"Providing cover fire," I said as I grabbed Invidium, levelling the rifle at the first Marauder I saw. "Everyone get your asses over here!"

"You heard the man, move!" Garrus reaffirmed. "Troy, wait until the others have made it to the neutral zone. We'll move up when the entire team can give us cover."

"Gotcha," Troy said, following his reply with a single shot that almost certainly resulted in a mass of violet blood splattering the sand a dozen feet away from me.

"Moving!" Grunt screamed, his guttural voice nearly deafening me. "Try to keep up!"

The perfect krogan stormed across the battlefield, repaying the damage he took from this gutsy maneuver tenfold. His shields cracked after only a few seconds, but the sparks emanating from his armor meant bullets were still ricocheting rather than doing serious damage. The drones didn't quite know how to react to it, so while Adison and Koenig used the display to move up somewhat unhindered by enemy fire I singled out the drones stupid enough to expose themselves and fired away. Bodies dropped every few seconds, a combination of sniper fire, blind shots from the three soldiers running toward me at full speed, and incredible displays of biotic power from Antarom.

Grunt reached me first, sliding into cover and laughing to himself as he popped the clip in his shotgun. "This is fun!"

God I love krogan.

"Take the second killzone!" I yelled, straining to be heard over the raging sounds of battle.

"My pleasure!" Grunt replied, moving into position to cover the next battlefield. Almost instantly the massive shotgun was raging again.

Adison entered my field of sight followed closely by Koenig, so I dropped my scope to let them enter the corridors and quickly went back to it, finding targets and popping off short bursts before retreating to the safety of my wall. Koenig joined Grunt in suppressing the second killzone while Adison took cover opposite me to lay down fire on the remaining drones in the first field.

Every inch of me wanted to rush back out there and go head-to-head with the Marauders. Whether it was the surprising satisfaction of taking down the monstrosities in close quarters or the simple fact that I wasn't nearly as effective with firearms as anyone else in the team, I don't know. Not that I really enjoyed the immense risk that fighting style entailed, it just felt like I was more useful in that role than with a gun in hand.

Antarom, on the other hand, couldn't get enough of the danger.

"Antarom, what the hell are you waiting for?" Garrus asked. "Regroup with the rest and provide cover!"

We didn't get any answer. Instead she continued raging around the battlefield, sending drones flying through the air if not crushing them into pancakes outright. She followed up every charge attack with a spectacle of amplified melee combat and biotic power, occasionally permeated by a moment of taking cover and firing away with her modified shotgun. I'd always known asari were powerful biotics, but it had been my understanding that using those abilities was similar to running a marathon; you can only exert yourself so much before you crash. That definitely didn't seem to be the case here.

"Antarom!" Garrus yelled. One of the only times I'd ever heard him legitimately sound like he might beat someone to death with their own skull. "Get your ass to cover or stay still long enough for me to get a good shot! If you're not going to follow orders I might as well take care of this problem myself!"

I swear the entire team stopped what they were doing to make sure they'd heard him correctly. It worked, though. Antarom stopped for a second—she likely would've been shot if not for the fact that she had two marksmen and two riflemen covering her—and snarled.

"Womble, how strong are your shields?" she asked.

 _Oh God._

"Uh . . . strong enough I guess," I replied. "Why?

"My barriers are almost done for, I'll have to charge to your position to make it."

"Okay. What does that have to do with my shields?"

"I need something to stop me, and I'd rather not send you flying into the second killzone."

 _Is she serious? Can't be, who the hell would . . ._

That's why you never make assumptions about elite special operatives that you don't know. If it had been Shepard, sure, I could've said with reasonable certainty that she would never have risked my safety like that.

But this was Antarom, and she was already amping up for a charge.

"You gotta be fucking kiddin—"

Before I could finish the sentence, Antarom hit me with full force. If I had really wanted to I could have probably avoided the assault—or at least, the Seer could have. I suppose that speaks volumes to either my devotion to the mission and squad or my incredible stupidity. For the sake of maintaining my pride, we'll say it's the former.

Either way, the charge knocked the breath right out of me and felt like it took half my vital organs with it. I'd seen Antarom charge drones plenty of times now, but I'd never been on the receiving end of one before. Hell, I hadn't been hit with any biotic ability at all, so new sensations all across the board. Not only did it feel like someone had kicked a hole through my chest, but there was an odd prickly sensation that I'm sure would have been tremendously painful if she had meant it to be. Thankfully my pain was limited to physical, which in retrospect didn't do me any favors when Antarom rolled both of us to the side, placing us in the cover of one of the natural corridors.

"Thanks for that," she said, springing to her feet while I lay on my back trying to get my bearings. "Vakarian, I'm here. Your turn."

 _Fucking shit. So that's how it feels to be the poor bastard on the other side of a biotic charge. I suddenly feel really guilty for how I played Mass Effect all these years._

"You all right, Donz?" Adison asked, offering a hand to help me up.

"I'm good," I replied. Damn, the world was spinning. Still, shields were mostly intact and my hardsuit's internal bioscanners didn't show any major physical trauma, so it wasn't anything to worry about.

Adison nodded and returned to laying down fire across the battlefield, and after I snatched Invidium off the ground I joined him. There weren't many drones left in the first killzone. Garrus and Troy just had to make it across, and we could focus on step two. Unfortunately what sounded like a simple exercise was more complicated than one might assume. Exiting their sniper positions meant dropping down to the roof of the shrine's interior which ran the length of the battlefield and converged at the corridors the rest of us used for cover. But rather than jumping down to our position, they had to continue on to another pair of towers overlooking the second killzone so as to offer decent sniper support.

The problem with this strategy was that until they made it to those towers, there was virtually no cover for them to seek if the drones got a line on them. And if the Marauders decided to make their way to the roof rather than fight a pointless battle on the ground—which they did about five seconds after I'd thought of it— it wouldn't be pretty. We couldn't provide suppressing fire on enemies who held the high ground.

"All right, we're moving up," Garrus said into the comm. "J'kal, when we're in position blanket the second battlefield with everything you've got and join up with the others. Antarom, you in good enough shape to make it up here?"

"On it," she replied, leaving a trail of translucent blue light as she shot to the roof closest to Garrus's tower. That poor Marauder. A moment later Troy leapt from his tower, using the propulsion system in his armor to safely land after a good thirty foot drop.

"Gonna need a hand on this side too," he said. "Donz, Adison, one of you mind?"

The drones had more or less cleared entirely from the first killzone, choosing instead to focus on the three soldiers that had just put themselves in the most immediate danger. As much as I didn't want to join them in that self-endangering endeavor, Adison was the better soldier whereas I was the better target. If the day's events had proven anything, it was that I made the most of combining enhanced reflexes, situational awareness and mobility in a way that kept me mostly intact and allowed my allies the perfect distraction.

"I got this," I told Adison as Invidium folded into its mount on my back.

"You sure?" he asked.

I smirked. "Not really, but yeah. After J'kal carpet bombs the damn place move to cover further in the battlefield. Hopefully it'll buy us some time to find protection after we get Troy and Garrus to the towers. And don't stop shooting."

"Quit stalling and let's get this over with!" Grunt yelled enthusiastically.

Right, Adison knew what to do. Good thing one of us did.

There wasn't much time to waste, so I darted back into the empty battlefield and jumped, using the propulsion jets to spin me around and dash up to the roof of the east corridor. From there I could see the entire shrine stretched out before me, along with the army of drones below and the nine destroyers still violently engaged in combat.

 _Can't think about that now, focus on the drones._

Antarom and Garrus had the west side under control, so I spun and headed east along the roof. Troy was at my right, hurrying north to catch up with me where the facility intersected with the corridor while at least a dozen Marauders and Cannibals stood between us. Odd, we hadn't engaged Cannibals yet. They must have leaked out there from the second killzone.

Either way, they hadn't noticed me yet, so I ran full-speed ahead and rounded the corner to reach the first drone. I was in the air before it heard me coming and came down with a left hook that would've snapped it's neck if the blade hadn't cut straight through it. God was I happy with the gene mods in that moment.

Unfortunately they hadn't created one that protected against bullets, and taking down the first enemy alerted the rest of them to my presence. No cover, nothing to do but run and gun. I palmed my pistol.

 _Seven seconds. Half-second per shot. Three shots for Marauders, one for Cannibals if you're lucky and precise. Assuming twelve hostiles, split evenly between the two of you, should be able to survive. Should._

I levelled my pistol and fired away, three trigger pulls, three impacts straight to the Marauder's cranium. There wasn't much sense in standing still, so I picked up my previous sprint speed and repeated the process, using my propulsion system to increase stability between steps. For every shot that hit my shields a body dropped in response. Probably two—I was too focused on striving for perfection that I couldn't put any effort into observing Troy's progress, but I was sure he was downing drones even more rapidly than I could.

 _Click._

 _Shit! I'm dry!_

I screwed up. There were more drones than I'd expected and I'd overestimated my ability to take out Cannibals with one shot.

Seven seconds were up. My shields broke.

The first impact wasn't very jarring. I'd been shot no fewer than a dozen times back on earth and was getting more used to pain every day. The second one was what fucked me up. A single shot to my abdomen sucked the life right out of me, but instead of exhibiting shock or seeking refuge, adrenaline rose to the surface. Every time I've been injured I don't think rationally; as much as I like to believe I'm an intellectual philosopher, at my core I'm driven by instinct and emotion. The two most powerful motivators when seeking survival.

Besides, medi-gel was already treating the wound. Worst case scenario from a small arms wound, the ammo shaving wouldn't dissolve properly, likely giving me a mild case of metal poisoning that the medical salve would hold at bay until Claire could take care of it. The point is, I wasn't going to die from a single hole in my gut. All internal organs were still in check.

So I found the asshole that shot me and stabbed it in the face. Troy took care of the last one behind it with a single shot to the head.

"You all right bro?" he asked, running to greet me rifle in hand.

"I'm good. Bastard managed to get a shot through my shields."

"Only one? Shit, you've got what, at least twelve more to pass our record?"

I would've laughed at that if there wasn't a searing pain in my gut. Damn, it felt like the bullet had hit the same place I'd torn open back in Vancouver when all this insanity began. My body had taken more physical punishment in under two weeks than it had in the previous twenty-one years.

Regardless, pain was something I could deal with as long as it didn't physically interfere. And like the man had said, I'd dealt with a lot worse already.

"At least," I replied. "Come on, we've gotta get you to your next position."

Troy nodded and took off in that direction with me following close behind. "Path looks clear from here."

It did indeed, but as we'd seen more than enough already, that was subject to change at a moment's notice. "I'll follow you the rest of the way and regroup with the others from there."

"Sounds good to me."

Fortunately for us, we made it to the second vantage point without much interference from the drones below. Adison, Koenig, Grunt and Antarom had moved in to the killzone after an inspiring spectacle from J'kal, the effects of which could be seen strewn throughout the field. Unlike a game, real life doesn't clean bodies when you look away, no matter how much you may want them to. It was bad enough seeing the perversions of nature up close; somehow, witnessing them torn limb from limb in a haze of carnage was even more traumatizing.

I knew there wouldn't be another chance to take stock of my surroundings, so while I had a few seconds of reprieve I ventured so far as to check on the war raging between the destroyers. We'd lost a few fighters since the last time I'd checked, but that was to be expected. A single shot from even a destroyer was enough to blow through anything short of a dreadnought. The pilots had known going in that there wasn't a good chance of coming out unsinged, if at all.

What really caught my interest was the destroyers themselves. The three that had remained more or less immobile to protect the Shroud looked like they'd taken a serious beating, as did the one further out in the desert constantly harassing its foes. If they kept that strategy up, we wouldn't have long before they started dropping. They were already outmatched, and with a plan that basically amounted to using their own bodies as shields to get us through the door it wasn't feasible that the friendly destroyers would survive this. And, being super-intelligent machines, they had to have known that beforehand. They were willing to sacrifice themselves to help us save the krogan.

 _Shit. Guess they're not all soulless assholes, huh?_

Under ideal circumstances I might have sat there for hours trying to determine whether the Reapers were a network of simple AI or something more evolved, but there's rarely ever time for ideal circumstances. Instead we have to make the best of what we have, and if that's nothing at all, find the time later. There would be plenty of opportunities for me to engage in conversations with the Evanescent's crew about the philosophical black hole labelled Reapers.

For now, I had to get back to killing things.

The second battlefield was laid out similarly to the first; piles of rubble that had once been something magnificent now reduced to bullet sponges for those trying to avoid getting shot. Marauders, Cannibals and Husks swarmed the north end despite the artillery barrage that had cut down at least twenty of them while the team moved in from the south, tactically taking out their nearest threats. Troy and Garrus had already gone to work picking off the Marauders further back.

 _Same drill as the Citadel. You focus on the Husks, everyone else works on the guys trying to shoot you._

Except this time I wouldn't be shooting from a secure location. Really, I wasn't planning on shooting much at all.

I found my first target and jumped—I was seriously having way too much fun with the propulsion device despite the amount of danger it put me in. Four seconds in the air, forty or fifty foot drop at least. I'd like to say I know exactly how hard the first swing of my omni-blade hit, but in all honesty I forgot the formulae for velocity, inertia, gravity and force years ago. What I can say is that the rock beneath my feet cracked when the Husk hit it after my attack, so either the gene mods had turned me into a complete badass or the ground on Tuchanka was just very brittle. Actually, in retrospect neither one of those is a huge complement.

There wasn't much time for thought after that stunt. Now that I had entered the fray my key to survival was instinctive movement. Quick, powerful strikes against enemies that went down after a single attack, much like an artificial version of Antarom's fighting style. The propulsion device allowed me to cross large distances if necessary, the enhanced muscle structure pushed my attacks to become stronger and faster, and the reflex booster ensured that my body did everything physically possible to take out my attackers before they could get off a fatal blow.

That's not to say I didn't get shot, of course. I did. A lot. But with the seven-second rule I'd established, I usually managed to make it to cover before shields went critical. It didn't hurt that there were seven other supremely gifted soldiers watching my back, causing equal parts devastation and confusion for our enemies. After a short while J'kal joined us in our engagement, displaying his keen aptitude with a mid-range rifle that could only have been a harpoon gun. Ineffective as that may sound for a chaotic firefight, he made elegant use of it, staggering enemies long enough to guarantee a kill by secondary means if the harpoon through their heads somehow wasn't enough.

Once again, Adison and Koenig had found a perfect rhythm, one priming enemies for a punishing kill while the other delivered said gruesome ending. As expected, Grunt ran fearlessly throughout the field, absorbing more damage than anyone should possibly endure and enjoying every second of it. I think more Cannibals died hearing his laughter after he punched clean through their skulls as opposed to shooting them like any normal soldier would do.

Although, I really couldn't blame him. Granted, I wasn't using my bare hands and tremendous ability to withstand physical punishment—mostly because the latter didn't exist—but there was something strangely satisfying about melee combat. I'd proven that I could handle a rifle if the situation demanded it, but this was the only role I felt genuinely good at. Probably because it takes time and training to effectively learn how to use a gun, whereas anyone with a Seer package and a decent muscle enhancer could swing a blade.

After a short time Antarom and I developed a sort of routine, getting more and more used to each other's styles and learning how to complement them. Any time she blew a crowd of enemies into the air nearby I was there blade in hand to deliver the killing blow—or, in a few cases, a lethal curb stomp. And when I found myself surrounded by Husks and Cannibals to the point that not even the jump jets could save me, she swooped in and caused such a distraction that a near-death situation for me quickly turned to a certain-death situation for them.

I easily lost track of how many drones we killed after only a few moments. My focus was so devoted on the fight and the team was downing Reapers with such speed and precision that keeping track of our kills became impossible. The only thing I had to go on was the battlefield riddled with dozens of corpses. The Reapers were throwing absolutely everything they had at us, and despite how limitless the waves seemed it was more empowering than disheartening. Sure we were taking a beating (and more than a few bullets) but we gave ten times better than we got, and nothing they did even slowed us down.

Well. Sometimes I speak too soon.

"Heavy ground units moving onto the field," Garrus announced through the comm. "They're getting desperate." Directly following his statement a flash of blue-white light hit the corner of my eye, and after putting a slug in the nearest Husk's chest I spun to find Antarom charging into the fray.

With Brutes. Three of them.

"Antarom, what the hell are you doing?" I yelled, immediately setting off in that direction. A Cannibal took a few shots at me and was rewarded for its achievement with a rifle slug to the skull that left a cloud of red carnage in its wake. Thank God for cover fire.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" she replied through gritted teeth, still going at it with her biotics and the occasional shotgun blast. "Taking out the heavies before they cause a problem."

I pushed myself further, encouraging my feet to move faster than they ever had. "You can't fight those things close-quarters by yourself, especially not three." I stabbed another Husk, watched as a high-velocity round exploded a nearby Marauder's brain, and continued sprinting with the propulsion jets adding to my speed.

"I seem to be doing fine so far."

"Right, because that's a good reason to take unnecessarily insane risks."

 _As if you haven't been doing the same thing ever since you got here._

Couldn't argue with that, especially coming from myself. What I _could_ do was enter the mayhem in the hopes that Antarom wouldn't get herself killed before realizing she'd put way too much on her plate. And if I didn't die in the process, all the better.

With the path to the Brutes as clear as it was going to be, and the remaining drones bogged down by the rest of the team, I leapt onto the first abomination in range and shoved my blade through its spine. Had it been any normal organic being this would have spelled immediate death, but the Reapers had eliminated most weaknesses in their critical fighters. Not only did the Brutes possess a redundant nervous system and several backup organs from the krogan frame, but they boasted an armor almost impervious to common weapons fire. After three more stabs in the beast's back I had accomplished relatively little, and was forced into the air when the claw of a second one took a swing at me. Really, the propulsion jets almost felt like cheating. When it's real life though, you take every advantage you can get.

Antarom appeared from thin air beneath me with an equally surprising detonation of dark matter to get the Brute's attention. With the extra few seconds to position myself, I deactivated the jet and came down once again to deliver another brutal impalement to its back. The blade pierced six inches of armor and even at that I could tell I was barely leaving a scratch. If I could somehow blow the armor away it would at least give me a chance of taking out the secondary nervous system.

"We're gonna have to wrap this up soon," Garrus said. "I just got word from the fleets. Reaper capital ships in orbit have almost taken out their less genocidal friends. It won't be long until extraction becomes impossible."

"That's gonna be a little difficult," Antarom said as she unloaded two shotgun blasts into a Brute's face. "These things just refuse to die!"

"Yeah, and we've got more on the way," Grunt joined in. "Looks like Rachni. And this time they come with guns."

"All right, Ashbrook, Koenig, finish up the infantry," Garrus ordered. "J'kal, see what you and Grunt can do about the Rachni. Antarom, what do you need to finish up the heavies?"

"A big fucking mass accelerator."

 _Nice._

"If we can get this plating off their backs I can take out their nervous systems," I added, jumping to safety before another Brute could get a line on me. "Dunno if it'll be enough to kill them, but it should immobilize them at the least."

I swear I heard a dissatisfied grunt from J'kal, but couldn't be sure between the constant gunshots, explosions, screams of rage, and indecipherable groans of the Reapers. "Leave the armor to me."

 _Uh, okay._

Well, if he was going to take over for me, I might as well take over for him. Ravagers had entered the field from the west, and while Grunt was doing an admirable job of keeping their attention, it was only a matter of time before they made use of the cannons the Reapers had given them. Assuming the Brutes would leave me alone if I reciprocated, I could at least be helpful in some regard.

I leapt my way across the killzone (which would have been much less of a killzone if not for the Reaper heavy reinforcements) occasionally taking down a drone but leaving my incredible sniper support to clear the path for me to the best of their abilities. Thankfully those abilities were in top form, and it proved how well Troy and Garrus worked in unison when put in a position that really let them shine. Every few seconds a drone was shot down right in front of me, and in no time flat I'd joined Grunt in his frenzy to take out this new perversion of the krogan's age-old nemesis.

The cannons really should have caused trouble, but the propulsion devices in my suit combined with the Seer implant's instincts made them incredibly easy to evade. It didn't help the Ravagers that they announced their attacks beforehand with laser guidance that, once an attack started, couldn't alter their course. Had it been a standard firefight where their enemies were more focused on infantry I'm sure they could have done a number on us, but we were pressed for time and re-writing the book on specialized combat with each of our diverse skillsets. The Reapers couldn't account for such insanity.

So, that in mind, I made the most of it, managing to get close enough to slice a Ravager's cannon barrel in two and quickly turn to compromise the second. What I didn't realize, however, was that instead of rendering the weapons inert, I'd done something similar to clogging the barrel of a firearm. Only in this case, it was explosive ordnance rather than a small chunk of lead attempting to escape a confined space. With a little foresight I might have imagined such a possibility, but foresight is never as clear as hindsight. Funny how you only realize that after you've blown yourself up.

Shields dropped faster than the stock market in 1929. A moment later I was in the air, and this time not of my own accord. Within three seconds my endorphins couldn't block out the pain even with gene mods, but that was nothing next to the knowledge that I was going to look like a grade-A moron for this one.

The rest, regardless of how cliché, was a blur. Even the Seer package couldn't make sense of it. The next moment my brain was physically capable of comprehending was hitting the ground, hard. I was getting used to the feeling.

"Shit!" Troy yelled from some distant, echoing place. In reality I knew he was still likely in his tower picking off drones, but disorientation goes a long way in changing how your mind works. "Donz, you okay?"

I pushed myself to all fours and spat blood, my visor retracting into itself to release the crimson saliva. HUD read all internal organs intact; a few skeletal fractures, but most noticeably a suit puncture just above my right side. Not deep, but evidently something was fucked up enough to allow blood to stream through my throat. Several more minor lacerations spread across my body in locations where there was no unbreakable armor to prevent them. The armor itself, while charred and smeared with assorted blood and the odd bit of shrapnel, held up quite well. If only the same could be said for the ballistic weave that apparently was not shrapnel-resistant.

I searched for the only meaningful wound and sighed. Metal of some sort, likely something from the Ravager, had lodged itself in the undersuit. Could've been worse. It stuck out about five inches, which meant that if the blast had exhibited a bit more force there wouldn't have been much of me left to complain. I did good though—the Rachni's suicide mission had not only failed to kill me but seriously damaged its counterparts, and Grunt was quick to take advantage of the situation.

"Shit," I breathed, pushing myself off the ground to rest on my knees. The shrapnel would have to come out before medi-gel applicators could begin fixing the problem. My body was going to look like a pin-cushion well before the end of this war.

At least the disorientation began fading. I'm not sure if that was the Seer or the excess of adrenaline keeping me sharp, but it was certainly a blessing. There's nothing worse in combat than not being fully aware of your surroundings, especially when people are relying on you. That and getting injured by your own foolishness, thus forcing someone to come save your ass. Adison and Koenig to the rescue.

"You all right, Donz?" Adison asked, approaching me on the ground while Koenig kept the remaining drones busy. Grunt tore straight through the crippled Ravagers and the tag-team efforts of J'kal's harpoon gun and Antarom's biotics did wonders on the Brutes, so for the time being I felt comfortable taking a few seconds before yanking a rather large piece of metal out of my side. I've done it plenty of times before, just . . . nothing quite that big.

"I'm good," I replied casually. Wouldn't be enough to fool anyone, but I didn't feel like being my usual sarcastic self. "Just give me a second. Fucked up those rachni pretty good, huh?"

Adison looked me over, lingering far too long on the hunk of shrapnel before deciding I didn't have the capacity to think for myself. "Come on, we've gotta get to cover. Daniels, we need you out here—"

"We're fine, Claire," I interrupted. "No need to worry yet."

"Yet?" I heard in my ear. Seemed like hours since I'd heard her voice, and it was strangely comforting.

"Donz," Adison protested. "We—"

"I'm okay dude, trust me. I mean look at them," I said, waving flippantly as our team handily took down the last of the heavies. "We're almost done here. Just give me five seconds. I'll get on my feet, we'll deliver the cure, and get back to Evanescent where I can get patched up. Five seconds and I'll be ready to keep going."

Adison clenched his jaw and scanned the perimeter quickly before returning to me with a sigh. "Five seconds."

I nodded. Breathed deep. Tried to focus on some abstract pleasant memory to make up for what I was about to put myself through. Didn't work.

I yanked the shrapnel loose and stifled a scream, doubling over in pain. It's not fun getting stabbed or shot; it's even less fun when a deadly object is removed from your body. That's where all the damage is really dealt. In my favor, however, medi-gel began sealing the wound within seconds, taking the edge off the pain. The shrapnel, while a few inches wide, didn't boast a great deal of thickness, so with a little fortune it wouldn't even leave a scar.

 _Who are you kidding? You enjoy getting new scars._

Maybe, but I certainly didn't enjoy the process. I don't suppose anyone does, but without our fair share of scars we couldn't tell pleasure apart from pain or have constant reminders of what we get for making mistakes. It's intriguing to say the least that life always finds a way to ensure that we remember our faults, yet lacks a system to help us hold on to the good moments. Those we have to fight for.

Speaking of which, we still had a mission to finish. Different kind of fight to be sure, but the idea still applied. And I wasn't the only one licking my wounds. Having exploded my way through the Ravagers—and therefore making my greatest contribution to the battle—Grunt finished them up thoroughly and the dynamic duo of J'kal and Antarom had used my strategy to take down the Brutes. But none of it happened without cost. Being battle-hardened warriors they were much better at hiding it, but there was no denying we'd all taken a beating.

"Everyone sound off," Garrus said, only then alerting me to the fact that he and Troy had made it down from their overwatch positions.

"No need," Grunt said with a forceful sigh. "We're all here."

"Intact?" Garrus asked, coming to see how bad I was.

 _Might as well find out sooner rather than later._

I stood uneasily to my feet knowing full well that just because I didn't feel pain didn't mean it wasn't there. However I wasn't too keen on making a particular spectacle of myself or distracting us from completing our mission, so I sucked it up like I expected the rest of them were doing and pretended to be a badass.

"Intact," I replied. "Medi-gel's holding. Ready to finish this."

"Guys?" Troy said, calling for our attention. "We got a problem."

I'm sure every one of us followed his extended arm pointing to the sandy expanse beyond the shrine, where everything really went to shit. We'd known it was only a matter of time; I guess most of us had just been wishing the clock wouldn't have run out so fast.

A red beam pierced the sky, emanating from one of the enemy destroyers and making its mark on one of our protectors at the Shroud. This one was different though, like it hit a weak spot. The massive robotic insect groaned in pain, smoke and flames obscuring the hole left behind by laser fire.

Then it began to stumble.

"Oh shit," someone breathed.

"Everyone move!" Garrus barked. "That thing's coming down, get to the tower now!"

I needed no encouragement. Medi-gel blocked the pain and at that point the gene mods were really more in control than rational thought, so my feet found their speed and took off toward the tower with the rest of the team at my side. Only thing I could think was that the dying destroyer would topple backwards and take out the Shroud, or that without it in defensive position one of the enemies could easily get a shot off for the same result. And there we were running toward the damn thing. Of all the stupid things to do, running to a tower that was marked for destruction at any second certainly seemed like one of the least thought-out. And that's saying a hell of a lot.

"Pick it up, people!" Garrus yelled, encouraging us to push ourselves painfully onward. The Shroud was only another hundred or so meters ahead. "Friendly capital ships are down, our window for evac just got a hell of a lot smaller—!"

"Wait, look!" Antarom shouted, forcing all of us to stop alongside her and marvel at her observation. "Did they do it?"

One glimpse of the sky and it was clear something was different. Usually Tuchanka's sun interacts with the atmosphere and landscape to give the planet an orange-brown sheen, but there was . . . green. Life in the air. A breathing aura that could only come from a widespread, atmospheric dispersal of the genophage cure. Incredible doesn't do it justice. Even the Reapers stopped fighting simply to take stock of the shift that had just occurred.

We cured the krogan.

"Ha-ha!" Wrex exclaimed over the comm. "Garrus, you pointy-headed bastard! We did it!"

If I'm not mistaken, Garrus smiled watching the cure spread throughout Tuchanka's skies. "Yeah Wrex," he replied, allowing a rare moment of sentimentality to overtake him. "We did it."

Mordin, Gorun, Wrex, Claire and about half a dozen krogan troops emerged from the Shroud's main entrance, each of them stopping to observe the sky as the rest of us had. Really I don't think the adrenaline had completely worn off so I wasn't as involved in the moment as I probably should have been, but there was no denying what we'd just accomplished. The krogan were free to build a future as equals with the rest of the galaxy, and this battle only cemented the fact that Wrex and his people were going to be both loyal and highly effective allies.

But, there's a downside to everything. Maybe the reason I couldn't engage as directly as everyone else is because part of me had a feeling about what was going to happen next. Hell, with the Seer, I may have _known_ what was going to happen and simply wasn't paying attention to my own signals.

While everyone else marveled at the beauty of their accomplishment, I turned around and scanned the southern horizon. Something felt off. Vibrations in the air, like Antarom sending a drone flying away from the battlefield but on a massively larger scale. I hit Troy on the shoulder and pointed him in that direction. If anyone could see what I was looking for, he could.

He squinted for a moment—just a moment—before making out a form that wasn't even a dot on the horizon to my eyes.

"Shit", he muttered. Then, retreating at an increasingly rapid rate while keeping his eyes on the sky: "Shit shit shit SHIT SHIT! Reaper incoming!"

 _Sure, why not?_

My mind made itself up incredibly quickly in that moment. No seizing fear grabbing me by the threat, no despondence stemming from the realization that we were utterly and hopelessly screwed. I've experienced what you might call emotional death before, but this was something completely different. Acceptance, maybe? Impossible, I'd barely known what was coming, let alone had time to process it.

 _Maybe you did know, you just didn't know you knew._

Well, that was a mindbender.

There wasn't much use paying attention to anything else at that point. Now that the capital ship was closing in it was evident we couldn't get out of the way in time. The thing was massive and headed directly for us. Unless someone had the ability to teleport a few thousand meters at a time, fleeing simply wouldn't work. That didn't stop them from trying of course, with Wrex telling them to head for the vehicles his krogan had brought along. Once again, pointless. The Reaper would shoot them before they got to second gear.

I'm not particularly proud that I resigned myself to death so easily, especially considering how much shit I'd gone through to make it to that point.

 _There's just no logical point in fighting or fleeing. They've got you beat this time. There's some honor to be had in facing your death with courage._

Was it courage, though, or just apathy? Claire stood immobile as well, still just outside the Shroud, so at least I wasn't the only one with that line of thought. And at least we'd finally managed to accomplish something. The cure hadn't been in the air for long, but it would certainly be enough to ensure our alliance with the krogan. Even more so if the squad responsible went MIA to deliver on their promise. Hopefully whoever took over for Wrex would keep his promises after the war ended. If the war ended.

That was my last thought before the giant metallic hand swooped in from the sky with a ferocious roar, kicking over at least three of its smaller counterparts and fracturing the tower before causing an earthquake upon landing. The destroyers fell over each other, the tower cracked apart piece by piece, the sky turned dark under the shadow of the capital ship.

I looked back to Claire one more time. I couldn't let her die like this. Or I couldn't die without trying, however futile, to prevent this from happening to her. Wasn't sure if it was chauvinism or affection driving my thoughts. Maybe I just wanted to be closer to her comforting presence.

I wanted to protect her, I really did. Couldn't even protect myself.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Woo-hoo! First time seeing combat with the new squad! And more shit got fucked up! Good times. Sorry for the delay again guys. Having some medical issues and work issues and such, and of course Andromeda took up way more free time than it should have the last couple weeks. But, that shouldn't be too time-consuming anymore. Hopefully.

So, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. I tried to make each character's fighting style and abilities uniquely useful, and I really hope no one came across as too OP. The idea is that working together this squad can do damn near anything, but alone they wouldn't stand a chance. As always, the most I can do is strive for some semblance of sci-fi realism and hope you all like it. Combat sections aren't my strong suit.

All that aside though, thanks for the support during this dry spell! As always the faves, follows, reviews and comments are greatly appreciated, and I'll see you all next time!


End file.
